


Find the Cost of Freedom

by vashtishacklebolt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Activism, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Marauders' Era, Resistance, activist!Lily, bi!Dorcas, jily, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vashtishacklebolt/pseuds/vashtishacklebolt
Summary: Two girls: one pureblood, one muggleborn, both destined to be murdered by Voldemort himself. Their sixth year brings purist propaganda, terrorism, N.E.W.T.-level magic, and serious growing pains. But these girls have plans of their own. How will they fight back?





	1. Intelligence and Reconnaisance

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’ve been a Lurker until now. This is my first fanfic. I am actually a poet/memoir writer and have written several chapbooks. You can message me directly to find out more about them. But I am a huge Potterhead, and while I have written a little fanfic in the past and read more than a few fanfics online lately (*cough* Grad School Distractions *cough*), this is the first I’ve ever tried to complete, and the first I’ve ever posted, and of course, I will try hard not to be such a Lurker now that I am directly involved in the fandom! Please message me if you’d like to beta/you’ve found mistakes or passages that don’t settle well. This is my best attempt to write fanfic that passes the Bechdel test, and the DuVernay test! R&R!
> 
> **** All rights belong to JK Rowling, I own nothing ****

 

Chapter 1: Intelligence and Reconnaissance

The light from the rising sun was bleeding through the lace curtains; the roosters were calling into the light and the birds in the trees outside the window shattered the silence of night with their chatter. Soon the sound of cookware hitting the stove, voices, the smell of coffee, the sound of a kettle whistle, and the bleating of the goats would rise up into the attic room where Dorcas shut her eyes against it all.

It was the morning of the first of September. In a few hours, Dorcas would be boarding the Hogwarts express.

Dorcas finally opened her eyes just as her mother called from downstairs.

The sun was slowly filtering through to touch with golden light the candle stubs grouped on various surfaces, the fringe of brightly colored floral-patterned scarves, making the gold thread of Persian-style embroidered pillows twinkle. The sun touched the moving pictures on the wall-- adolescent versions of Dorcas and her schoolmates Alfred and Mary waved hello, younger versions of her father and brother with their hands on their hips against a southern Italian vacation background regarded Dorcas with adoring exasperation. Paintings of apartment blocks and public parks that Alfred did looked strangely still next to the moving pictures, but they also had a life of their own. The sun was moving. It was catching in the panes of the window. It was being absorbed by the wood-paneled walls.

Throwing on a sweater over her nightgown, Dorcas went down stairs. In the kitchen she found her father, looking very tall and very bald in his royal blue house-robe; out the window, Dorcas could see her mother coming down the hill from the stable where the cow lived, and she had thrown a house-robe over a night shirt and her pajama pants were tucked into wellingtons.

A little voice was coming from the wireless radio, and Dorcas reached out and turned up the volume. The voice grew; it was that of a news-wizard, and he was saying, “...dark mark was spotted, escalating the crisis. Within minutes Obliviators were on the scene. Minchum is now calling for the resignation of head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Robert Ogden, calling him a “useless old bat….”

Mr. Shacklebolt moved at that moment to turn the volume down on the radio, and Dorcas set to work beside her father. She threw sausages into a frying pan as he charmed the whistling kettle to pour hot water into a teapot. A third steaming mug of coffee was already floating at Dorcas’s wrist height.

“Good morning, Dorckles,” said her father. “Take your coffee. It’s by your wrist.”

“Only Kingsley can call me that,” Dorcas responded as she grabbed the mug out of the air and lifted it to her lips. Her mother came through to the kitchen, having changed her wellingtons for slippers at the door.

“Are you going into the office this morning, Lem?” said her mother as she put down a basket of eggs and picked up the teapot to pour steaming tea into two cups. She put down the teapot and turned on the faucet; with two eggs in each hand, she rinsed them quickly, saying “good eggs from Vashti and William today.” She handed them to Dorcas, who cracked them in another pan. Dorcas turned up the heat underneath the pan with the eggs as her mother reached into the cupboard above her and took out three plates. Dorcas’s father flicked his wand at the plates, which slowly began to revolve into the air. Dorcas’s mother made a face.

“Lemuel,” she said warningly. “She won’t learn the value of hard work if you do every little thing with magic.” The plates clustered themselves next to Dorcas as she prepared to slide sausages onto them. They nudged her elbows, making the task difficult.

“Dad, the plates,” said Dorcas.

“Sorry, dear,” said her father, who flicked her wand to the left a little. The plates hovered more peacefully in front of Dorcas as she slid the sausage and eggs on.

Mr. Shacklebolt sighed and, finally responding to his wife, said, “No Fati, dear, I won’t be going into the office today,” as he pointed his wand at the frying pan from over Dorcas’s shoulder. The eggs were white and bubbling at once, causing the yokes to quiver. “Thought I’d take Dorckles here to King’s Cross.”

“Good,” said Fatimah Shacklebolt. “I’ve got to go to St. Oswald’s early today.”

As she spoke a large gray and white Kneazle wended its way in from the garden, looking like a small lynx, with huge ears and a tufted tail. Dorcas reminded her parents once again that “Only Kingsley can call me that.”

“Oh no you don’t, Potato,” Fatimah said without even looking at the Kneazle. Potato the Kneazle paused mid-step, then sat at the threshold, eyeing Fatimah. Lemuel turned to Dorcas. 

“Looking forward to school?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Dorcas as she brought the pan of scrambled eggs to the table.

“Getting your education is important,” said Lemuel. Dorcas grabbed a piece of toast and put it on her plate. “Do you still want to be an auror?”

“Yes, just--”

“Like Kingsley,” Lemuel finished. He smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

The family owl, Bard, chose that moment to come swooping in to land atop a kitchen chair.

“Not over the breakfast table, Bard!” said Fatimah sternly. Bard ruffled his feathers, regarded Fatimah in a somewhat apologetic fashion and stuck out its leg. Fatimah leaned over and untied the letter and opened it.

“Kingsley says good luck at school, Dorckles.”

Dorcas coughed and said in a sing-song voice, “only Kingsley!” Fatimah kept reading and glanced up at Lemuel. They seemed to exchange a significant look. Then Fatimah handed Lemuel the letter, and he scanned it as well. His face darkened. Dorcas leaned over her eggs and coffee to try to get a look but Lemuel just shook the letter out of her line of sight. He folded it carefully and stowed it in a pocket of his robes.

“Shall we get ready, then? You’re all packed, aren’t you Dorckles?”

“Only Kingsley can call me Dorckles. And yes, dad.”

“Good. Kingsley’s hooked us up with a portkey, it’s at half-past ten.”

After breakfast, Dorcas helped her father clear away the plates,while he charmed the scrub brush to wash them of its own accord. Then Lemuel went up the stairs to his study. 

Dorcas had packed the night before; being a very neat person, organized and precise, there wasn’t much for her to do. She checked her watch. There was an hour before the portkey would take her to King’s Cross. She’d take a walk.

Walking around the Shacklebolt farm was one of Dorcas’s favorite pastimes. Walking allowed her to think more clearly, she felt. And there was a fair amount to think over.

She made her way up the hill, sloshing  in her tall yellow wellingtons through the muddy grass, which was still brown from the drought that summer, toward the barn that she’d seen her mother walking away from earlier while Dorcas had been in the kitchen listening to the wireless.

A crisis. That’s what the news-wizard had said. Probably another attack, either on a muggle community, or a magical one, probably by the extremists who call themselves Death-Eaters.

Dorcas felt an involuntary shudder roll through her. The Death-Eaters made her physically ill. The name of their organization had been associated with the most violent acts ever in a conflict that had started when Dorcas was just ten years old. She was there the day it all started, not far away from the columns of smoke that rose up into the sky over Diagon Alley, the distant screams that rent the air, causing Dorcas’s blood to run cold. Her father had picked her up in her arms and her ran, carrying her, out of the alley, along with dozens of others, through the Leaky Cauldron, and out into the muggle street. The muggles must have been very surprised to see fifty or so witches and wizards appear out of a doorway none of them could see, all at once, but Dorcas didn’t have time to observe at the moment. Her father ran with her into another smaller alleyway where they disapparated home.

If only Dorcas were two years older, she could join the aurors and fight the Death-Eaters, the ones who’d started all of this, the ones who threatened the peace and calm of everything.

Dorcas was going over the crest of the hill now, passing the barn, heading to the glen at the bottom.

The sun was rising, burning away the mist that rose from the little stream behind the house; the birds were chattering away as they warmed up. At the same time, a chilly breeze blew through the trees, reminding Dorcas of the cold to come.

And the letter. What had been in the letter Kingsley had sent? It couldn’t have been much, Kingsley never writes anything really useful in letters in case they were intercepted. But whatever he’d written was enough to cause Dorcas’s parents to look worried. She’d have to find out.

Dorcas turned right around and began walking back to the house. She felt something like glee bubbling. She wanted to rub her hands together. She’d go in search of her father, track down the robe with the letter in the pocket, like practice for the Auror Academy course in Intelligence and Reconaissance that Kingsley had told her about.

In the house, the wireless had been turned up again. The news-wizard was going on about markets.

“... With gold gaining in value this week, the Dragot is now worth sixteen sickles. The galleon is….”

Dorcas did her best to be as quiet as possible, so as not to alert her parents to her presence in the house. She suddenly thought that a Disillusionment Charm would come in handy right then, but she wouldn’t be learning about it until later that year. Dorcas made a note to ask Kingsley for more information about it.

Dorcas could hear the water running upstairs. She’d have to rely on the water and the radio to cover her.

She crept up the stairs, avoiding the steps that creaked, and was on the landing when the water stopped. The news-wizard’s voice was very clear now: “rain expected in the midlands. Blue skies in the west and to the north, lasting throughout the week….”

Dorcas could now hear her father humming. He must be applying oil to his bald head. Dorcas only had a few minutes. She looked around.

Hanging on her parents’ bedroom door was her father’s blue house-robe. Dorcas could hear her father humming a tune.  Dorcas stuck her hand in one pocket, then another, but they were both empty. Dorcas could hear things clattering in the bathroom, bottles of oil, razors, toothbrushes.

Dorcas had another look around. There was no paper in sight in the bedroom. She needed to go to the study to see if there was anything she could find there.

The bathroom doorknob was turning. Dorcas, heart beating wildly, moved back into the wood-paneled hall.

Then the doorknob stopped turning, and Dorcas could hear more clattering within. He must have forgotten something. Dorcas stuck her head in the doorway of her father’s study. Dorcas’s father’s study was full of the sort of things he did while he was at home, being semi-retired. There were bits of yarn and wool which he crocheted in his spare time, books he was always reading, re-reading and marking up about defensive magic and cursed objects. And there was a lot of paper: folders full of D.M.L.E paperwork and stacks of letters. Dorcas moved towards one stack, and started flipping through them. Mostly they were requests for her father to come to visit the D.M.L.E., some straight from department head Bob Ogden himself. Some letters just asked for specific information about a type of curse. Some were requests for research.

Dorcas heard the bathroom door open.

She threw down the stack of letters and spun out of the study, landing in the hallway just as Mr. Shacklebolt appeared there, brown bald head freshly shaved, shining with oil, his graying black beard freshly combed. He was wearing a bathrobe.

“Dorcas, why were you in my study?” He asked.

“I was looking for a quill. To write with.” Dorcas wondered if there was an Auror Academy course in lying.

“Well, I’ll get you one, just a minute,” said Mr. Shacklebolt distractedly.

“Actually, I was also waiting to use the bathroom, so if you don’t mind…”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Shacklebolt. Dorcas slid into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She hadn’t needed to use the bathroom, so she turned to the mirror and played with her black curls, arranging them just so, knowing they’d blow about in the wind and de-arrange as soon as she left the house. She inspected her brown skin, poked at a purple-ish pimple, looked into her own dark brown eyes and sighed. Then, just then, she spotted something in the mirror behind her. On top of the closed toilet seat, a folded piece of parchment. Dorcas turned around, picked it up and unfolded it. Spotting Kingsley’s name at the bottom she knew she’d found what she’d been looking for.

A knock at the door. “Dorcas, I forgot something in there, can you hurry up?”

Dorcas hurriedly unfolded the letter, saying, “Alright dad, almost done.” She reached out and flushed the toilet while she read.

_Dear mum and dad,_

_I'll make this short, as I've just been assigned to the Irish coast and don't have long before my departure. I've a contact in the Transportation department who has organized a portkey to take Dorcas to King's Cross. It'll arrive at half-past ten and leave at a quarter-to._

_There's something else. I can't tell you much because so much is top-secret these days but we've intelligence about extremist activity near Hogwarts. They’re gathering. I don't want to alarm you, but once I heard, I couldn't not tell you. All I can say is, we're working on it. Make sure Dorckles doesn't do anything stupid._

_Love you mum, dad. Take care. I'll be back soon, and I'll see you on my next furlough._

_Kingsley_

The door opened suddenly. Mr. Shacklebolt was standing in the doorway holding a quill, looking at Dorcas holding a folded piece of parchment out to hand to him. He took it slowly. She smiled widely. His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Did you…” he began.

“Find what you were looking for?” she asked, wide-eyed innocent. “Well, I found this piece of parchment.”

“Go get your trunk. It’s almost time to go.”

The portkey was a broken handmirror. It appeared in the center of the kitchen table, glowing blue, just as Dorcas had finally heaved her trunk into the room. She had changed out of her pajamas and was wearing her favorite set of casual robes-- crocheted squares of red and yellow yarn, homemade by her father. Dorcas felt very cozy in it. 

Lemuel had changed into his casual robes as well, a blue and orange paisley pattern with a simple cut and a matching blue and orange paisley cap.

Potato the Kneazle was sitting on a kitchen chair, watching the glowing handmirror with interest. With one look from Fatimah, Potato leapt off the chair, but kept watch from a distance.

Fatimah was now dressed in her silver St. Oswald’s work-robes, which denoted her status as ward-supervisor. Her smooth black hair was braided and looped around her head, and laid over her robes was a necklace of bright yarn, leaf-shaped bits of painted metal and re-purposed, azure-blue bobbins, made by one of her patients. She leaned forward and kissed Lemuel on the cheek.

“Goodbye dear,” she said before kissing Dorcas also. “Good luck at school, get good marks and write often!”

“I will, mum,” said Dorcas. Fatimah grabbed her handbag, reached into a bronze urn on top of the fireplace, and tossed a handful of powder in, causing green flames to whoosh into life. 

“Oh!” Fatimah grumbled, turning around. She grabbed a piece of toast off the table and walked up to Potato.

“One piece. _That’s it_.” She presented the toast to Potato, who took it in his mouth, and swished his huge, fluffy tail around with satisfaction.

Then Fatimah walked back to the fireplace and stepped in, waved to her family before saying, “St. Oswald’s Home for Old Witches and Wizards!” And she disappeared into the flames.

Dorcas turned to her father, who was studying his watch.

“Two minutes to transport. Got your trunk? 

“Yes dad.” 

“Got your wand?” 

“Yes dad.”

“Thirty seconds to transport,” said Lemuel as he laid a finger on the handle. The handmirror had started to glow blue again. “Grab on, Dorcas,”

Dorcas grabbed the portkey and nothing happened for five seconds. Then suddenly, she felt a swooping sensation around her navel, as though a hook had grabbed her around her middle. The familiar, but unpleasant sensation of traveling through space at an accelerated rate always made Dorcas a little nauseous. Colors whooshed past, air squeezed Dorcas until the colors settled around them again, in the shape of brick walls and trash cans. They’d landed in an alley behind King’s Cross.

“I have to ask,” said Mr. Shacklebolt as Dorcas heaved her trunk onto a trolley. She wheeled it into the station entrance.

“Did you read it,” said Lemuel as they made their way through the station. “I’m not mad. You’re as nosy as your brother. I can only hope that it means that one day you’ll be a a great auror just like him. The Shacklebolts have a long legacy of fighting Dark wizards and the Dark Arts.”

“And mum’s family,” Dorcas asked, hoping to evade answering his question.

“The Shafiqs? Not so much, to be quite honest. But she’s not like the rest of her family, she’s very proud of you both, as proud as I am, and I couldn’t be prouder.”

Dorcas wheeled her trolley around to face the barrier, and together Dorcas and her father walked through onto the platform, through clouds of steam and crowds of students, to the bright red Hogwarts Express.

Dorcas waved hello to students she knew-- Gryffindor Benjy Fenwick, fellow Slug Club member, Ravenclaw Wilfred Chang, and her friend from Hufflepuff, Alfred Thomas…

Dorcas turned toward her father. He regarded her very seriously. “You mustn’t speak about what you’ve read in the letter,” he said.

“It wasn’t much. Kingsley’s not one to give up information in a letter,” said Dorcas.

“Yes,” said Mr. Shacklebolt. “All the same, you’re not to go blabbing. Kingsley told us, _your parents_ , in confidence, so that we could protect you. So don’t--”

“Do anything stupid. I already know.” Dorcas gave her father a little smile.

Lemuel gave Dorcas a kiss on the forehead and Dorcas hurried forward to find a compartment. Alfred hurried after her.

“I’m in this one! Quick, I’ll help you with your trunk. You made it just in time!”

Dorcas beamed in return, and looked back at her father just once. He waved cheerily, and Dorcas waved back, before he turned to disappear into the crowd heading toward the barrier. The train whistle blew. It was time.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Protego

 

Chapter 2: Protego

 

“Prime Minister Callaghan will address the Inquiry at Scotland Yard over the riots at Notting Hill Carnival later today… Tensions between increased British battalions and IRA troops in County Armagh were exacerbated yesterday by mystery men, who appeared to be neither IRA nor British Army. Described as wearing black cloaks and masks over their faces, they were seen in the area just before the discovery of five Catholics murdered at a desolate roadside. Green fireworks also appeared to have been set off nearby, no word as of yet whether the two events are related. National Security is expected to release a statement within the hour…” The wireless was on in the kitchen of number 72 Charnwood Street. Lily walked over and turned up the volume, but the news-caster had already moved on. Now he was going on about the flooding on several major roadways due to the torrential downpours that had followed the three-month long drought. Lily switched off the radio and sat down in her kitchen.

It was quiet. It had been quiet since Petunia had gotten her new job in the typing pool at a drill-manufacturer in Surrey. Petunia liked to say that she simply had to go that far because there was no work in Birmingham. But Petunia had moved out almost the same time that Lily had arrived back in her parents’ Cokeworth home. Lily was sure that there was nothing she wouldn’t have done to get out of the house that Lily lived in. Anything to get as far away from Lily as possible.

The quiet was the only positive side effect that Lily could see. Petunia’s absence meant that there were fewer glowers and glares in her direction at any mention of her school. Fewer nasty comments and fewer arguments. Less name-calling.

Now there was just Lily and her parents, and she felt as though she were behind a glass pane, unable to reach anyone on the other side.

Lily had been feeling this way all summer. It would seem that there was a kind of _protego_ shield around Lily in the muggle world at all times. Her parents, though they loved and accepted her, often had to have Quidditch or Transfiguration explained several times. It had been enjoyable at first; twelve-year-old Lily had reveled in the extra attention, but sixteen-year-old Lily was exhausted. She was spending increasing time in her room.

There was, after all, much to mull over. Since the start of summer, Lily had been obsessively going over the details of her fifth year; she could see clearly now the full scope of the disaster. The third term had closed with the split with her best friend of nearly seven years, Severus Snape. She shook her head as her thoughts approached Sev once again. She should have seen it coming a mile away, she thought for the thousandth time, most especially after what happened to Mary. It was with Avery and Mulciber, after all, that Sev had been spending more and more time, and it was Avery and Mulciber who—

But no, Lily would not spare them any more mental space than she already had. Not Avery, not Mulciber, and definitely not Severus.

Lily looked around her kitchen. Yellow chairs, yellow cupboard doors, yellow wallpaper. There were the little glass bottles that Lily kept on the sill, filled halfway with water, and each with several wildflowers in them. Now they were wilting sadly. The sky outside was gray, although the rain had stopped. There was a cool breeze blowing through the gap that reminded Lily of the winter to come.

She felt a bit guilty, if she was being at all honest. She’s a prefect— she should have guessed what Avery and Mulciber were up to the night they were lurking in the corridor below Gryffindor Tower. She should have been faster in responding to the disappearance of Mary Macdonald that troubling night. And she should have responded faster, and come down harder, on both Potter and Severus by the lake that day. She should not have gone out that evening to speak to Severus. She should have allowed him to sleep on the cold, hard stone floor beside the portrait. But that would not have done— that would have violated curfew, and, as a prefect, it was Lily’s duty to make sure all students were in their common rooms after hours.

But, were her responsibilities all that important anymore? What with both wizarding and muggle media reporting the same bombs in muggle streets and on muggle trains, the murder of a ministry official here, a muggle-rights advocate there, all presided over by the hideous mark sent into the sky each time— was Lily’s job as a prefect making any kind of difference in the world at all?

And how much longer would she still have those responsibilities when she arrived back at school? Her exam results had been perfect. Nine O.W.L.s, all Outstanding. She worked so hard, but what if her emotions were getting in the way? Those emotions that stopped her from docking points from Potter and Severus, those emotions that might have kept Lily from making the right decisions. For, although she’d long since learned that muggleborns weren’t judged more harshly for their mistakes at Hogwarts, just for coming from the muggle world, that little nagging fear that she could lose everything as quickly as it had come to her on an owl’s silent wing had never really left...

“Lily dear, are you quite alright?”

“What,” said Lily, snapping out of her daze to see her mother and her father looking at her with concern. Her father was dressed for work at the nearby college, in a tweed suit jacket and brown trousers. Her mother was in a housedress and slippers, with rollers in her hair.

“Were you daydreaming again, love,” said Mrs. Evans as she walked towards the window where Lily’s flowers sat. She began fiddling with them, trying to get them to perk back up.

Lily felt a bubbling frustration build inside her. She had the charm to liven up those flowers on the tip of her tongue, if it weren’t for the Trace. She felt trapped, and all of a sudden, couldn’t stand to see her mother touching her flowers.

Lily stood up and went over to her mother and began grabbing the bottles out of her mother’s hands.

“Lily, what are you doing?” said her mother.

“Lily, don’t be rude to your mother,” said Mr. Evans.

Lily was spilling the water out of each bottle, dumping the flowers in the sink, feeling a grim satisfaction at watching them flounder there.

Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Lily’s mother had come to stand beside her. Lily felt the grimness drain out of her, as though her mother were absorbing it from her through her hand. Lily leaned into her mother. Mrs. Evans put her arms around her daughter.

“Teenagers,” murmured Mrs. Evans to Mr. Evans as he passed by. He tipped his hat at his daughter as he opened the back door.

“I’m off to work. _Behave_ ,” he instructed, before he gave Lily a little smile and stepped out the door.

Lily breathed in deeply and pulled slowly away from her mother. She was no longer a child after all. Mrs. Evans looked at her daughter closely.

Mrs. Evans looked a lot like Lily. With almond-shaped green eyes, dark red hair pulled into a chignon at the back of her head, her skin soft and pale, with a few lines curving around her mouth and eyes, rather making her more beautiful. Lily hoped she’d be as beautiful as her mother at her age.

Mrs. Evans let go of her daughter to begin making breakfast.

“Early start today,” she said cheerily, as she opened the icebox and took out a butcher paper package of bacon and began to lay them on a pan set on the stovetop.

“Off to Hogwarts!” Mrs. Evans beamed at her daughter. She was turning up the heat under the bacon when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” said Mrs. Evans, and she went off to answer the door. Lily took hold of the spatula and began to tend to the bacon.

“How do you do, Mr. Snape?”

Lily froze, holding the spatula as if it were a wand. Then she threw it aside, and ran to a corner of the sitting room, where she had no view of Severus (and Severus no view of her) but she could see her mother plainly.

Severus said in an affected sweet voice,  “Is Lily in? Only, we always go to King’s Cross together. Ma’am,” he added.

Lily waved her arms frantically at her mother, made little choking sounds and shook her head so that she made herself dizzy. Her mother noticed just in time.

“Why ye— er, no. No, she isn’t in, actually.”

There was a suspicious pause in which Lily held her breath. Lily’s mother had a very believably stalwart look on her face.

“She’ll — She went with her father, just a moment ago. You see his car has gone.”

“I see,” said Snape, his tone now very flat and unrevealing. “very well. Good day, Mrs. Evans.”

Now it was Mrs. Evans’ turn to be sweet. “Bye, now.”

“Good bye.”

Mrs. Evans shut the door and turned to Lily, stalwart sweetness now quite gone from her features.

“Alright, Lily, what’s going on?”

Lily, still crouched beside the door, squeezed between the hat rack and the console, determinedly avoided her mother’s eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Lily, why did I just tell your best friend that you’re not here when I can see you right in front of me? You haven’t said more than a few words to either your father or me all summer—”

“I’m saving my voice for spells—” said Lily evasively as she ducked under her mother’s arm on her way back to the kitchen. Her mother followed, all heated concern.

“—and you’ve been hiding in your room the entire time you’ve been back—”

“—doing homework—” Lily inserted as she picked up the spatula from under a kitchen chair.

“—never see you but for meal times, and you’ve barely said a word to your sister since the last time you were home—”

“—she’s the one not speaking to me—” Lily snapped as she vigorously scraped at the bacon, which had stuck to the pan in the time that Lily had been out of the kitchen.

Mrs. Evans sighed exasperatedly. Lily felt her looking at her, so she redoubled her focus on unsticking the bacon from the pan.

Lily did not answer, afraid that speaking would reveal the relief she felt that she had avoided Severus successfully, and that her mother had been the one to help her.

* * *

It was on the road out of Cokeworth, heading south, Lily’s trunk stowed in the backseat of the car, when the subject was brought up again. This time Mrs. Evans was cautious.

“Usually, you go to London with Severus Snape,” she began. In the reflection of the car window, Lily saw her mother glance at her. Lily remained resolutely looking out the window, chin resting in her hand.

After a few minutes’ silence, Lily’s mother said, “and are you and Severus Snape… still friends?”

Lily took a deep breath and said, “No.”

Lily’s mother fell silent and the rest of their drive to London was quiet. Lily was glad for it, for she could contemplate her O.W.L.s in peace. What was she going to do with nine O.W.L.s? Lily closed her eyes and could see McGonagall’s face swim to the surface of her mind, skeptical as Lily expressed noncommittally during their career counselling session that she would probably train to become a healer after finishing Hogwarts. Lily shook her head to clear the memory and sighed.

At the end of the three hour drive from Cokeworth to London, Mrs. Evans had parked and was trotting alongside Lily as she wheeled her trolley toward the barrier.

“And have you got your badge?”

“Yes, mum,” Lily groaned.

“And you have all your books, you’re sure?”

“Yes mum,” Lily huffed, rolling her eyes.

“You didn’t forget your medication for your tummy troubles, did you?”

“No, mum,” Lily growled through gritted teeth. She hadn’t told her mum she’d long since found a potion that took care of the bloating she would much rather not discuss in the middle of the train station, _thank you very much._

Lily wheeled her trolley around between platforms nine and ten. She leaned her shoulder casually against it and indicated for her mother to copy her. As she did, Lily heard her mother stifle a gasp as the wall against which they were leaning softened and they fell through dark nothingness before emerging into the steam and chaos of Platform 9 and ¾.

“I do wonder if I shall ever get used to it.”

Mrs. Evans was looking around with her mouth slightly open when she bumped into someone— a tall, bald, brown-skinned wizard in a set of blue and orange paisley robes. Mrs. Evans blinked her surprise for a moment before saying, “Oh, my word, I am sorry.”

The wizard lifted the blue and orange paisley cap on his head in greeting.

“No harm done,” he said, before he walked off in the direction of the barrier.

“Lily!”

Lily wheeled around, eyes wide, nervous for a moment that the voice belonged to someone she didn’t want to see.

But in fact, a short girl with a kind, round face and light brown hair was approaching: seventh year Gryffindor Alice Macmillan.

“Hi Alice,” said Lily, barely able to contain her relief. “How was your holiday?”

“It was aces, we went to Tinworth, in Cornwall, to visit my grandmother. … is this your mum?”

Lily’s mother reached out her hand to shake Alice’s.

“How do you do, Mrs. Evans?”

“Please, call me Rose!”

Alice beamed at Mrs. Evans, then hooked an arm through Lily’s, and steered her towards the prefect carriage at the front of the train. Lily’s mother followed.

“How are you, you know, since...exams?” asked Alice tactfully. Lily smiled, though she could feel it falter in spite of herself.

“I’ve been better.” Lily was suddenly struck with the thought that she had never really been close to Alice, but here she was, asking if she’d been alright over the holidays, perhaps aware that she no longer had a best friend to turn to. Lily felt a rush of affection for Alice. “Thank you for asking,” she said quietly. Alice squeezed her wrist.

“If you ever need anything, you can talk to me,” said Alice with an air of finality for which Lily was grateful. She was glad to be surrounded by people who didn’t want to draw out awkward conversations.

And then, Lily spotted him. He was standing with Mulciber, who was short, squat, with short brown hair and dark robes with silver stitching. They seemed to be handling several small pamphlets, covered in blocky bright red letters. Lily met eyes with Severus as she glided past.

In her ear, Alice whispered “Elbows in, head down, you’ll be fine.”

Lily was ready for an encounter— her hand was gripping the wand in her pocket and frightening scenarios involving illegal duels flew through her head— but Severus’ eyes slid away from her, back to Mulciber. Though his face betrayed a sour look now. Lily tore her eyes away.

Lily smiled as she waved goodbye to her mother. The _protego_ shield that had been so present when Lily was with her parents and her sister in the muggle world had steadily melted away until it was almost as if she and her mother were standing in the same dimension.

* * *

From a window in the prefect’s carriage, Lily looked around at the train and the students, looking for the tops of familiar heads of brown and blonde hair, and for the tops of heads she’d rather avoid. Lily could see Frank Longbottom, Alice’s boyfriend, standing with his formidable looking mother, and fellow sixth year Gryffindor Saoirse O’Malley, clutching her broomstick tightly, even though she wasn’t on the house team.

The whistle blew, and students began bustling onto the train. Soon it was only parents left on the platform.

Mrs. Evans blew her daughter a kiss as the train started to move, and waved until Lily’s carriage was out of sight around the curve of the platform. Lily stopped waving and turned around to sit in her seat and watch the city of London flash past from the Prefects’ carriage.


	3. Camels

 

Dorcas settled in a compartment with Alfred as the train pulled out of the station, and they shared their holiday goings-on.

"I worked at my dad's record shop and I watched my neighbor's daughter. Made a bit of pocket money. Big relief for my mum and dad for me to buy my own books this year," said Alfred.

"And I read so much in my spare time," he added. "It was a very hot summer, and it was boss, all the kids dodging the police, playing cricket in the park, pretendin' they're Viv Richards. But I got through A Tale of Two Cities, Little Dorrit, and Brothers Karamazov."

"I've never heard of any of those books," said Dorcas. "You'll have to show them to me."

"How was your summer," Alfred asked.

"Well, my family and I went to the sea for two weeks," said Dorcas.

"Oh yeah, I remember you mentioned that in your letter. Was it nice?"

"It was fine, you know, those seaside towns are crawling with pureblood families. Had dinner at Muriel Weasley's house a few times, she's a right old bat. And dad got bit by a pixie. They're endemic to the region."

"Oh, boy. He alright?"

"Yeah, mum patched him up. Kingsley spent a few days with us, which was nice, had lots to tell us about his work. Oh, and he wrote my parents the strangest letter!" And Dorcas launched into a short explanation of the morning's mail delivery.

Alfred looked concerned. "What do you think that means, extremist activity? 'They're gathering.' That's ominous, that."

"I know." Dorcas nodded slowly. "My guess is as good as yours."

Alfred glanced at his watch.

"Blimey. I've got to go to the prefect meeting. And I'll have to do patrols, and then I can come back after. See you in a bit."

Alfred left the compartment, sliding the door closed behind him.

Dorcas leaned back and watched muggle London turning slowly into muggle suburbs that whizzed past the window.

Dorcas and Alfred had been friends since his first year and her second. He'd been wandering the edge of the lake, and Dorcas, who'd developed the habit of taking her own walks by the lakeside, happened to be walking behind him, minding her own business. He moseyed along, picking up rocks, and mushrooms and plants—

"Hey! That's poisonous—" Dorcas shouted, running forward. Alfred looked up at Dorcas with wide eyes, backing away from the slender stalks with tiny white bell-shaped flowers and long shining leaves. Dorcas hurried forward to look at the plant, confirming her suspicions, when she heard a twig crack and a rustle of leaves. She looked up.

The boy who had been walking in front of her had disappeared.

Dorcas quickly looked right, left, up into the tree canopy, underneath a nearby gooseberry bush.

Finally she spotted him at the bottom of a ravine.

Dorcas quickly hopped over the bush and began sliding down the narrow slope, letting her feet slip over rocks, grabbing at branches to slow her descent.

She reached the boy and looked him over, covered as he was by his tangled school robes.

His face was turned away from her. His curly black hair had leaves and twigs stuck in it. His arm lay motionless at an angle from his body. Dorcas knelt down.

Suddenly, his body jerked, and the boy glanced up to look at Dorcas, before looking around to see where he'd fallen. Dorcas smiled with relief.

"Did I fall all that way," he asked.

"Yeah, you did," answered Dorcas. She reached out and touched his shoulder, and the boy cringed.

"That hurts," he said. Dorcas drew her hand away and looked around before turning back to him, having decided what to do.

"What's your name?"

"Alfred," said the boy. He was now gingerly touching his arm with his other hand.

Dorcas smiled. "Well, let's get back up to the castle, Alfred. Madam Pomfrey can fix you up in a tick." She put her arm around his shoulders, reaching under his other arm, to pull him up to standing, and together they made their way slowly up the slope. On the path above, they made their way back the way they had come, and came across Hagrid, who was walking out of the forest holding an empty cloth sack.

"Hagrid!" Dorcas shouted. She glanced over at the boy, who was breathing in sharply, with tears in his eyes. Hagrid ambled over, cloth sack swinging.

"What's this, now?"

"An accident," said Dorcas quickly. "Can you carry him up to the castle? You'll be quicker than if we just walk."

"O' course," said Hagrid. He dropped the cloth sack and scooped up Alfred, who looked like a doll in the crook of Hagrid's massive arm, and he began taking long fast strides up from the lakeside. Dorcas followed at a run.

Later, in the hospital wing, Dorcas was inside the door the moment that Madam Pomfrey decided that Alfred could have visitors.

"How are you doing, Alfred?" Dorcas asked. Alfred looked down at his bandaged arm, which was in a sling.

"Alright. Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion that stung going down. My arm feels alright, but she said I should wear a sling for a few days to make sure it heals right. By the way, what's your name?"

"I'm Dorcas."

And even though Alfred had been sorted into Hufflepuff house, they became good friends. It was very rare to see one without the other.

Mary on the other hand—

"Hello, Dorcas," said a voice in the doorway. Dorcas looked up to see Mary, a book in one hand, and her trunk dragging behind her.

"Getting a head start on studying, Mary? Class haven't even started yet," Dorcas teased as she took the book out of Mary's hands, while Mary stowed her trunk in the luggage rack.

The book's title was _Modern Magical Musical Effects_ , and Mary had bookmarked it at a chapter called "Advanced Distortions."

"I wasn't studying," sighed Mary, shaking her long brown fringe out of her eyes.

"Well, maybe you should," muttered Dorcas as she inspected the book.

Mary had never been very good at classes. She often arrived late, or neglected to arrive at all. Her teachers frequently heaved large sighs as they handed back Mary's papers, usually marked Acceptable, Poor, or Dreadful (although no T's yet, as far as Dorcas knew, unless Mary kept them hidden). No, instead, for three years Mary had joined, in succession, glee club, marching band, and jazz band, and then, in fourth year, Mary ditched the jazz band to pass hours in the music room, though few had ever found out exactly what she was up to in there.

There was little that Dorcas could say, however, because on their very first day of school, it was Mary who alerted Dorcas to the fact that James Potter had just dipped a few of Dorcas's curls into a bottle of ink. Mary stopped Dorcas outside of the History of Magic classroom.

"Wait! Just turn around really slowly, I think I can fix it," said an eleven-year-old Mary Macdonald. The day before, she had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Dorcas turned around and Mary took out her wand.

"Inkus Removus!" She said. Dorcas rolled her eyes. Mary yelped.

"I think I got rid of the ink."

Dorcas whipped around to see Mary standing there with her hands over her mouth, looking at the floor. Dorcas looked, too.

There on the floor were several locks of curly black hair and spatters of black ink.

"Merlin, Macdonald, what did you do?!" cried Dorcas, looking up at Mary. And Mary looked at Dorcas, and just started to giggle while still watching Dorcas with terrified eyes.

"It's not funny! Do you think this is a joke? Quit it! Stop it, Macdonald!" Dorcas said, walking up to Mary, feeling frustration and annoyance bubbling inside. Bubbling to the surface…

A twitch of the lips. Air escaping. The sound of the frustration bubbling up.

And the two witches were giggling.

"I'm— sorry—" gasped Mary. "I couldn't help it— I laugh when I'm scared—!"

"It's already growing back, look," said Dorcas, pulling her curls around to inspect the ends, which were indeed growing, twining around each other. Dorcas smiled. "It's alright, Macdonald, really. But next time, go grab a towel or something."

And the girls continued to giggle until the bell rang. Mary grabbed Dorcas's arm.

"We'll be late for Potions!" And the two girls sped off down the corridor.

* * *

 

In the prefects' carriage, Lily stowed her trunk under a seat and sat down to wait for other prefects. It wasn't long before several people came through the door: Ravenclaw Wilfred Chang, and dark-haired, dark-eyed Amin Shafiq, a quiet, reserved Slytherin. Wilfred walked over to Lily to sit across from her and they exchanged hellos and how-are-yous. Remus arrived then, smiling in his weary way, which softened the scars on his face. He went over to Wilfred and Lily. Three more prefects entered: Aphra Arden, a blonde, curly-haired, rosy-cheeked 6th year Ravenclaw, Gilbert Wimple, 5th year Hufflepuff with a mass of dark hair atop his head, and Lysistrata Selwyn, a tall, black-haired haughty beauty who was in her final year in Slytherin house. They were followed by Alice Macmillan and four more prefects that Lily didn't know well: A broad-shouldered boy with light brown hair and long-lashed eyes, a tall, brown-skinned boy with close-cropped hair and a serious face, a short pale girl with thick dark hair, and another thin girl with brown skin, round black eyes, and long straight black hair.

Lily waved hello to Gilbert, because he was a member of the club of which she was president, S.H.I.M.M.E.R., the Society for Hypothetical Investigations in Model Magical Experimentation and Research.

Alice hurried over to Lily and Remus and presented them with her red and gold Head Girl badge.

"Made it!" she said, her round face shining with excitement. She pinned it to her jumper and beamed at the two gryffindors.

"Well! Better get started!" Alice turned to the car to address the prefects, and to take roll call. Lily learned that the boy with light brown hair and long eyelashes was called Cassius Meadowes, the tall boy with dark skin was called Alfred Thomas, the girl with thick dark hair was Persephone Moon, and the name of the last prefect who had entered was Mitra Patil.

Amos Diggory stood up, adjusted his coke-bottle glasses, and puffed out his chest importantly, allowing his Head Boy badge to catch the sunlight. He said, "Why don't I take the broom handle, Alice, you look tired."

Alice looked Amos up and down. His shirt lapels were tucked unfashionably inside his jumper. "I think I'll manage alright, thank you," said Alice coolly. Amos sat down rather heavily. Alice turned once more to address the group. The city of London streaked past the windows.

"Welcome new prefects! Hello again to old prefects," she nodded to Lily and Remus, Wilfred, Aphra, Gilbert, Amin and Lysistrata.

"A reminder to all, your duties begin immediately. You'll be patrolling the corridors of the train this afternoon, and, after the feast, you will be leading any and all first years to your dormitories, and giving out the passwords to your fellow house-mates.

"Please remember that docking points is a prefect-privilege, while giving detentions is not within your purview. A reminder to all that, in the end, you always defer to your head of house, and should bring any and all infractions you witness to your superiors.

"The password to the prefect bathrooms this term is _lye_. Please note that the prefect bathrooms are for prefects and heads only."

She handed an envelope to Amin, saying, "Here is your dormitory password, Slytherin prefects." Then she handed an envelope to Lily and said, "Here is the Gryffindor password."

There was a knock on the door, which opened to reveal the plump, dimpled witch of the cart-sweets.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

Several prefects and Amos Diggory got up to have a look at the cart, while Wilfred and Lysistrata turned to their seat-mates and asked if they wanted anything. Several prefects were now rooting through their purses and coin-pouches for sickles and knuts. Alice turned around as she handed several sickles to the witch in exchange for a pumpkin pasty.

"Shafiq, would you like anything from the cart?" she called.

"No, thank you. I'll eat at the feast."

Alice thanked the witch as she slid the door closed again. There was wrapper crinkling, the sounds of munching, and low talking as chocolate frog cards were handed around.

"Evans, Thomas, you'll take the first hour of patrols. Lupin and Meadowes, hour two. Shafiq and Moon, hour three. Arden and Patil, hour four. Edgecombe and Selwyn, hour five. Wimple and Chang, hour six. Diggory, you and I take hour seven, and of course, we'll be on platform duty as well. Are there any questions?" asked Alice.

Persephone raised her hand and said, "Do you know who our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor will be?"

"Sadly, no, Moon, I don't. That information isn't shared beforehand with prefects and heads. We'll find out at the feast with all the rest.

"If there are no more questions, that concludes our meeting! The next will be in two weeks time in the Heads' Room, next to the Staff Room. Please check the notice board in the Heads' Room for the date and time."

Many prefects were now packing up to leave the prefect car to rejoin their friends in other compartments or to prepare for their patrols throughout the train. Lily leaned back to watch the scenery fly past the window. They were now out of the city of London and careening freely through the countryside. There were cows and barns and fields and rivers. Lily sighed.

This time last year Lily had been so excited to be a prefect. She'd taken it as a sign that she was on the right track. Approved by her professors, validated by her badge, she had felt as though she belonged. But there was that feeling again: was her work as a prefect having any effect at all on the larger picture?

Lily heard a cough above her. She looked up to see the tall, brown-skinned boy with the serious face and the close-cut curly hair.

"Lily Evans, right?"

Lily looked at him for a second before she shot out of her seat.

"That's me. You're Alfred Thomas, right? Right," she said, as Alfred nodded. He gestured to the door, and Lily led the way through.

They walked in silence for a carriage or two. Finally, Lily coughed lightly and said, "So, you're in Hufflepuff, yeah?"

"Yeah," was Alfred's response. "Gryffindor?"

"Yes," Lily affirmed. She glanced through the windows of each compartment they passed, mostly full of chattering students. "Are you in fifth year?"

"Yes," Alfred said. "You're friends with that chap there, aren't you? The Slytherin, with the black hair?" Alfred was gesturing toward the compartment they were passing. Lily glanced through the glass and met eyes with Severus. His face seemed to harden, and he looked away quickly.

Lily looked straight ahead determinedly.

"No, I am not." She said this with such finality that Alfred did not pursue the subject. He cast about for something else to discuss. Lily knocked on the window of the next compartment, where some third year Gryffindors were pinning down the arms and legs of a Hufflepuff student and lifting him bodily, while two others were opening the window.

"Oi," she said loudly. "No throwing students out of the Hogwarts Express!"

She made a gesture with two fingers, pointing them at her eyes, then pointing them at the students, as if to say, "I see you." They let go, laughing, while the Hufflepuff, who hurried to the door, wrenched it open, looked up into Lily Evans' face and breathed a terrified, "Thank you," before he raced off down the corridor in the opposite direction.

"Not anymore," said Lily. Alfred looked at her curiously before he realized she was still responding to his question.

"Can I ask what happened?"

Lily huffed as they continued their patrol. Finally she said, "He called me a mudblood. Well, he'd called lots of people mudbloods. It was the straw that broke the camel's back, really."

Alfred nodded in understanding. Lily, who had been waiting for Alfred to ask her what camels had to do with mudbloods, turned to him and said, "Are you muggleborn, then?"

"Yes," said Alfred, "born in Brixton. My dad owns a record shop."

Lily smiled. "Good, I wasn't about to explain about the camels, you know."

As they made their way into the next carriage, they came upon Gideon and Fabian Prewett standing about casually, along with wide-shouldered, stocky Sam de Poest, who was stroking his thin blond beard and leaning against the door of a compartment packed with other, similarly built Hufflepuff quidditch players.

"Lily," greeted Fabian and Gideon politely.

"What are these?" Lily asked, as she approached; each twin was wearing what were clearly hand-knitted sweaters with their first initial on the front. "You both look like you've walked into someone's loom accidentally."

"A present from our older sister Molly—" Gideon began. Fabian cut in:

"—She's pregnant again, has been knitting a lot lately—"

"—A new hobby of hers," said Gideon. "She's not very good and I swear, if she doesn't kick the habit soon—"

"—She'll die knitting," Fabian chuckled.

"Pale yellow," said Gideon, screwing up his face, "not my color—"

"—but muddy violet suits me fine—"

Gideon scoffed, saying, "Even a veela wouldn't look good in these—"

Lily cracked a smile finally as she and Alfred passed by. They were coming to the end of the train.

Lily glanced into the last compartment, where Remus Lupin was sitting with James Potter, who was hidden behind the Daily Prophet, Peter Pettigrew, who was studying a chocolate frog card, and Sirius Black who was shuffling a deck of cards. Remus looked up at that moment. Lily nodded to him, to indicate that his patrol hour would start soon. Remus nodded back.

"Well, do you want to come and sit with me and Dorcas? We're just up here," said Alfred as they started back the way they'd come. Lily nodded. She was glad James Potter hadn’t yet noticed her, and gladder still to have a space of refuge from both Potter and Severus. She followed Alfred down the corridor the way they’d come.

Alfred swung open the door to a compartment two carriages from the end of the train. There were two girls inside, a brown-skinned girl with a halo of curly black hair wearing a simple robe of crocheted red and gold yarn, who Lily knew as Dorcas Shacklebolt, and a pale girl with long brown hair, who wore a sweater and a brown suede skirt, known as Mary Macdonald.

Alfred cleared his throat. "Hello Mary, how are you?" Alfred sat down next to Mary and smiled.

Mary gave him a little smile and said shyly, "Alright and you?"

Lily took a seat beside Dorcas and said, "We've not really talked much, have we?"

Dorcas shook her head. "No, I noticed you spend every spare minute with—"

"Not anymore," said Lily, crossing her arms. Dorcas nodded and looked out the window, before she took another look at Lily out of the corner of her eye.

"So, you're finally going to hang out with Gryffindors, are you," she said, one side of her mouth twisting upwards "It only took you six years."

Alfred glanced over from where he was talking to Mary, his mouth a little open as if he were watching a flame catch on dried twigs.

"Yeah, they're alright, I guess" said Lily, looking away. She was also smiling. Alfred looked relieved.

The sun was low in the sky and the scenery was growing wilder as the train wended its way through hills and vales, past lakes and forests. Lily looked at Dorcas digging around inside a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. She was sure she'd seen Dorcas around in school, but for whatever reason, she couldn't quite place her.

"What house are you in, again?" said Lily.

“Er…” Dorcas mumbled as she tentatively popped another Bean into her mouth. At that moment Alfred leaned forward and said, "Did you lot hear the news today, too? About cloaked people in Ireland, messing about at the Irish border—"

"And I heard about green fireworks on the news," said Mary. "That's gotta be—"

"The Dark Mark," said Lily, who'd heard the same broadcast. They all three looked at Dorcas, the only witch in the compartment whose parents were both magical.

"I didn't hear the entire broadcast," she said, as she fished for another bean from a little bag beside her. "But I think you're right."

"Might it be connected to— you know," said Alfred, trailing off. Dorcas gave him a silent look, as if to say, "You idiot." She put down her bag of Bertie Bott's beans.

"Connected to what," asked Lily.

Dorcas threw Alfred another disappointed look before she said, "My brother— he's an auror— sent my family a letter this morning."

"So," Mary interjected.

"So," continued Dorcas. "He mentioned that they're gathering. Near Hogwarts."

"Who," Lily pressed.

"Death-Eaters," said Dorcas. Her pronouncement was followed by silence. The train rocked steadily back and forth. The sun cast golden light into the compartment.

"What do you think is going to happen," breathed Mary, as though terrified that someone were listening in.

"I don't know," said Dorcas in a low voice. “Maybe nothing.” But she didn’t feel convinced. In fact, she was distinctly aware of her father's face swimming in the back of her mind.

Lily finally stood up as the lights were lit in the compartments and along the corridors.

"I have to get my school robes on. See you all on the platform?"

Lily left the compartment and walked along the corridor, considering what Dorcas had said about Death-Eaters gathering near Hogwarts. It had left her feeling heavy, but she was also aware of the feeling she'd had while spending time with Dorcas, Mary and Alfred. Like she had friends. For a moment, Lily even felt hopeful, in spite of the storm clouds that seemed to be brewing on the horizon.

  



	4. The Icenian Inquirer

 

The evening was balmy, and the gas lamps along the platform were made into halos by the steam. It curled around the ankles of a thousand students moving through the amber glow.

Dorcas and Alfred laughed with Mary on the carriage ride up to the castle. Going slowly around a curve, Dorcas leaned out the window to get a better view of Hogwarts castle, all the windows lit like fairy lights against the purpling sky.

Getting out, Dorcas smoothed her school robes over her uniform. Other students were making their way up the steps and into the entrance hall. Mary spotted Lily up ahead and went over to her. Dorcas turned to Alfred and said, “I told you about that letter in confidence.”

“I know, it just slipped out. But I saved you from Lily finding out about—”

“Alfred,” hissed Dorcas as two Slytherins passed by, throwing her a dirty look.

“What are you going to do? She’ll find out eventually,” he said. Dorcas lowered eyes, while her heart sped up and she felt her hands shake. Her father’s face swam to the surface of her mind. Don’t do anything stupid, he said. What could she do that was stupid? Dorcas looked up again, and watched the Slytherins walk into the school out of the corner of her eye.

Further ahead, Mary and Lily beckoned to Alfred and Dorcas, who joined them. Together they walked slowly across the flagged stone floor toward the double doors of the Great Hall, surrounded on every side by their fellow students.

Dorcas’s stomach was doing backflips now. What would Lily think, what would she say when she found out?

The tightly packed crowd eased through the doors as students took their seats at their house tables. Lily led the way, followed by Mary and Alfred. Dorcas stopped near the entrance.

Lily looked back at her and said, “Are you okay, Dorcas?”

Dorcas stood fiddling with the hems of her sleeves. She bit her lip. This was it. Lily would never want to be friends with her now. Finally, Dorcas swallowed her pride and said quietly, “It’s the welcoming feast. I — I have to sit with my… with my—”

Lily’s left eyebrow rose an inch before realization seemed to dawn on her face. Dorcas decided it would be the least painful for everyone if she didn’t wait to hear whatever Lily had to say or think about Dorcas’s house. She’d heard it all before anyway. Liars, thieves, sneaks, bigots, all of it. And it seemed that no matter how hard Dorcas tried to act the opposite, no one wanted to believe that Dorcas was any different.

She turned and walked along the Slytherin table and sat down on the far end. Out of the corner of her eye, Dorcas could see Lily’s dark red haired head move toward Gryffindor table, and Mary’s dark brown head move in the direction of the Ravenclaws. And Dorcas could sense rather than see Alfred’s sympathetic look as he took a seat at Hufflepuff table.

Dorcas could feel hot tears pressing from behind her eyes. She blinked them back and prayed that no one was paying attention to her. She needn’t pray, of course, as the Slytherins never bothered with her anyway. They knew all about her and her family, and had a name for her, too.

Looking up, Dorcas’s eyes met another pair— they seemed to be golden-brown, edged by long lashes, but that could have just been the candlelight. They belonged to a young man with long, choppy, golden-brown hair, and broad shoulders. Dorcas looked away when she realized how long they’d held each other’s gaze. What would another Slytherin look at her for anyway, expect with the purpose of humiliating her somehow?

Further along the table, Dorcas could see Snape and Mulciber talking in low voices. Mulciber seemed to be explaining something forcibly, and he was gesticulating with something crumpled in his hand— Dorcas could see large, red-printed letters on it. Dorcas wondered briefly what it was, before turning to scan the high table.

There was Hagrid, twice as tall as a normal man and thrice as wide, sitting in his magically enlarged chair. Beside him was Professor McGonagall’s chair, empty, as she was tending to the first years, now that Hagrid had ferried them all safely across the lake. Beside McGonagall’s chair was Slughorn, Dorcas’s head of house, who was chatting with Professor Sprout, whose springy blonde curls, Dorcas noticed, were graying. There was tall, thin Professor Kettleburn, and a relatively new hire, Charms Professor Flitwick. Dumbledore, whose purple robes twinkled with tiny silver stars, was seated at the center of the table, looking closely at his watch. Beside him was Professor Babbling, who taught Ancient Runes, talking to another witch that Dorcas didn’t know….

At that moment, the double doors swung open wide, and McGonagall and the first years marched in. They lined up at the front of the hall, looking very small in their black school robes, as Professor McGonagall placed the sorting hat on a stool at the top of the hall. There was silence for a second before the brim of the hat opened and the hat began to sing:

_Young witches travel far and long,_

_young wizards just the same,_

_to hear an old hat sing a song_

_and learn their house’s name_

_for it’s I who sorts the houses four_

_between the students new_

_those students come to Hogwarts for_

_magic knowledge tried and true_

_Gryffindor loves magic used_

_for purpose noble and pure_

_while Hufflepuff is most amused_

_by arts performed with honest rigor._

_Ravenclaw’s busy extracting_

_magic exact and exacting,_

_While Slytherin’s intention_

_is for magic to enhance ambition!_

_so put me on your head I promise_

_you’ll learn far beyond your dreams most wildest!_

 

There was a smattering of applause as Professor McGonagall presently shook out her scroll to read off the names of the first years. Dumbledore was now giving the procedure his undivided attention, studying each new student closely. McGonagall began calling them by name:

“Boot, Richard.” A little blond boy hurried over to the stool to sit, and jammed the hat on his head.

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat shouted. Ravenclaw table clapped politely.

“Cuffe, Barnabas.” A boy with his head held high strode confidently to the stool and sat down.

“SLYTHERIN,” the hat shouted after a minute, and the hall applauded again. Dorcas clapped lightly.

“Davies, James.” A boy with light-brown hair sat down on the stool and the hat called out, “HUFFLEPUFF.”

But Dorcas wasn’t paying much attention to the first years. She couldn’t help it, even as one first-year sat down to her table, accompanied by applause, followed by another, and then a third. She was so curious about the new teacher. Was she the new professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts? Dorcas could see, now that the witch had removed her pointed hat, that her hair was quite curly and dark, not unlike her own. Her skin was light brown, and her features were large but all in proportion. All in all, she was beautiful, and she was watching the procession with serene calm. There was little else that Dorcas could divine about the teacher just by looking at her. She sighed and tuned back into the sorting.

“Rosenthal, Hiram.” A boy with dark hair and a bright red yarmulke went to put the hat on his head.

“GRYFFINDOR.” Gryffindor table applauded their new addition. He was followed by just a few more students. Dorcas was now looking forward to the end of the sorting, when she could tuck into the feast finally. She was suddenly very hungry.

Finally, after, “Smith, Evangeline” (Hufflepuff),  “Turpin, Vincent” (Gryffindor), and “Wolpert, Gudrun” (also Gryffindor), Dumbledore stood and the hall fell into a hush.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, first years! Welcome back, returning students, faculty and staff! I will say more after the feast. For now, Wassail!” said Dumbledore as he raised his golden goblet.

Professors Sprout and Slughorn both raised their goblets in return, and chorused, “Drink ale!” as the food appeared on the golden plates all around.

Dorcas piled her plate high; she had the leisure to eat a lot, since no one at her table spoke to her. With time to herself, she looked around at the students near her: Amin, biting into a date, Barty Crouch, Jr., ladling soup into a bowl. She also regarded the new additions, including little Barnabus Cuffe, yellow curls bouncing, eagerly filling his plate with salmon fillet. He looked up at Dorcas, who smiled at him. Cato Parkinson, who was watching, cut in.

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you. Mixing with people _like that_ is bad for your reputation,” he said nastily to the young boy. Dorcas lowered her eyes again as Barnabus Cuffe turned away. She focused on taking tinier and tinier bites of her roast chicken.

As she ate, she listened to the conversations on either side of her.

“I heard the new hire is a pushover,” said Grace Adrian, to Dorcas’s left, biting into a mince meat pie.

“Aren’t all mudbloods,” quipped Florence Harper. Dorcas rolled her eyes. On Dorcas’s right, she could hear Hilda Flint talking Lysistrata Selwyn to death about quidditch.

“And it’s all bollocks, really, the referee was completely out of order,” said Hilda, as Lysistrata scooped another spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. She threw frequent glances at Ligeia Greengrass, her best friend, who was now deep in conversation with Cato.

“I mean, to call a foul and give a penalty to the Tornadoes,” Hilda scoffed. “So Rogers disappeared for ten minutes and then reappeared unconscious, big whoop, the mediwizards had him right as rain in no time.”

Dorcas tuned out the conversations of her fellow Slytherins for the duration of the meal and was licking her spoon of the last of her ice cream when Dumbledore stood again and the hall fell silent once more.

“Thank you. For those who don’t know, or need reminding, the Forest is forbidden to all students. Mr. Filch would like you to remember that no magic is to be performed in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be set by Madame Hooch. Please contact her if you wish to play for your house team. And finally, allow me to introduce Professor Asante, who comes to us from her tenure at Uagadou School of Magic. She will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.”

Professor Asante waved hello while the students clapped their welcome. The hall quieted once more Dumbledore raised his hands again.

“And now, I bid you all good night.”

All the students in the Great Hall now stood and began to file out. Prefects and Head Boys and Girls called out to the first years, guiding them out of the hall and toward their dormitories. As the students shuffled out, Dorcas struggled through the crowd to get to Alfred.

“Well? What do you think,” she said as soon as he looked at her.

“I don’t know yet, do I? I’ll reserve judgement until we have class with her,” he said measuredly.

“Such a Hufflepuff,” muttered Dorcas, smiling at her friend.

Mary and Lily caught up with them just as they reached the entrance hall. The four students turned to each other.

“Goodnight, Mary, I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Dorcas, turning quickly toward the staircase that led to the dungeons, and to Alfred and Dorcas’s respective dormitories.

Alfred said goodnight to Mary and to Lily, who both turned to go up the staircase. Alfred watched them go, before following Dorcas down the stairs.

Dorcas and Alfred descended the spiral staircase one level down and walked along a warmly lit corridor, past the painting of the bowl of fruit, to a stack of barrels. Alfred turned to Dorcas. Hufflepuff students all around them followed each other into one of the barrels that was open, disappearing from sight. The Fat Friar had stationed himself near the barrels, hovering and smiling at the students encouragingly.

“You should give Lily a chance to get to know you. I think she will understand.”

“Do you, really?” said Dorcas as she crossed her arms and looked down at her shoes. She looked up again, gazing into Alfred’s face imploringly. “Can I come in with you,” she said. Alfred looked genuinely sorry. The Fat Friar cut in then, wagging his transparent finger and saying, “Only Hufflepuffs allowed in Hufflepuff Basement!”

“It’s late and I want to get in a little reading. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dorcas,” said Alfred. The lid to the entrance barrel had closed behind the last student, so Alfred tapped out a short rhythm on the barrels, making the barrel in the middle swing its top open. He crawled through and disappeared, just as the Fat Friar drifted through the wall. Dorcas turned and walked back down the corridor, stepping back into the spiral staircase and taking it the rest of the way down, to the Slytherin dormitory at the lowest level.

Upon muttering the password, _Merlin_ , the cold gray bricks slid back to reveal the Slytherin common room.

Every head in the room was turned away from Dorcas, but one. The young man with the golden eyes was gazing at her again, and Dorcas could feel his gaze even after she looked away. With shoulders hunched and pulling at the hems of her sleeves, Dorcas continued on her way, without stopping, through the gloomy room and up into the girls’ dormitory. In the sixth year girls’ dorm, Ligeia was regaling Grace, Florence Harper and Hester Macdougal with the story of her date with Cato over the summer. As much as Dorcas could glean, it involved a little firewhisky, a little beach and not a lot of telling her parents where she was. Dorcas climbed into bed, drew her green velvet hangings and changed into her pajamas.

Sitting cross-legged, Dorcas waved her wand around her head. Her curls gently folded into two plaits, a little trick her father had taught her.

Laying her head down, Dorcas’s mind returned once again to the agony of living in Slytherin house, and wanting with every bone and fiber of her body not to be there. What was so Slytherin about a someday-auror, a Dark Wizard fighter? At the bottom of it all was the thought she’d had many times over the past six years. What had the Sorting hat been thinking, the day it put her in Slytherin? It _must_ have made a mistake. There was nothing in Dorcas that was at all similar to Ligeia, Grace, Florence, or Hester. She’d have been better off in Ravenclaw, with the clever ones, Gryffindor with the determined ones, or Hufflepuff, with the kind ones, like Alfred.

What use was a kind, determined, clever witch in Slytherin, a house of thieves and liars, and bigoted purebloods? Subjected, if not to total ostracization, then to bold stares like that of the golden-eyed boy? But Dorcas could not dwell— she was overcome, not for the first time, with the desire to run away, to find a place where she could be who she really was. Not a Slytherin.

* * *

 

On a moving staircase high above the Hufflepuff Basement and the Slytherin Dungeon, Lily and Mary walked side by side up the stairs, surrounded on all sides by Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students.

“Why do you spend time with Dorcas?” Lily asked as the staircase docked on the next floor.

“What?” said Mary, as they came up to the landing. Ravenclaw students turned and followed the corridor to another part of the castle, but Mary stayed by Lily’s side as she pulled aside a tapestry, leading to another, narrower staircase.

“Well, she’s a Slytherin,” she said as they climbed. They came out in another corridor, where Peeves was hurling Dungbombs at the door to Filch’s office. “This way,” said Lily, motioning to a few straggling first-years who had stopped to watch.

“Dorcas isn’t like the other Slytherins,” Mary answered as they climbed more stairs. “I’ve known her a long time, she isn’t like the Slytherin you used to be friends with. And she isn’t like Mulciber, for instance.”

They’d arrived at the painting of the fat lady. Lily turned to gaze at Mary, whose jaw was set with the kind of stubbornness that Lily associated with willful Gryffindors. Her eyes blazed with that characteristic loyalty that friendship engendered. Then, Mary turned on her heel and walked down the corridor, taking an alternate route to Ravenclaw tower. Lily pursed her lips in an expression of uncertainty as she watched Mary go, before turning to face the painting and speaking the password, _major mana_. She stepped through the portrait hole.

Lily breathed a sigh of relief to be back in the Gryffindor common room. Through anything: lost friends, scary news, estranged sisters— at least Lily could always count on the familiarity of Gryffindor common room.

Lily sat down in a cushy red armchair. The narrow windows above twinkled with far-away stars. Lily watched them for a while, thinking of Dorcas. Why not say what house she was in? Lily thought of what the hat had said about Slytherin. _Slytherin’s intention was for magic to enhance ambition_. What were Dorcas’s ambitions? Did they at all reflect those of her fellow Slytherins, or those of the founder? Dorcas hadn’t seemed to Lily as though she might be capable of something Dark or dangerous. Did knowing she was in Slytherin change the way Lily thought of her?

On the other side of the room, by the fire, Remus sat with Potter, whose face was again obscured, this time by a book, and Peter, who was playing a game of gobstones with Sirius. Remus waved hello, and Lily waved back.

Potter hadn’t bothered Lily the entire time they’d been back. Not on the platform in Hogsmeade, not in the Great Hall at Gryffindor table, not here in the common room. In fact, every time she’d caught sight of him that evening, he’d avoided her gaze, or covered his face. Perhaps he was saving his nuisance-making for the first day of classes, to ensure maximum embarrassment, if his past actions were anything to go by.

Lily heaved herself, then, off the armchair (reluctantly, for it was comfortable) and took herself off to bed.

* * *

 

Dorcas awoke the next morning a little earlier than her dorm-mates, dressed behind her hangings, and left before any of them had awoken. The gray light that filtered through the lake was almost gentle in the common room. The lapping of the waters generally made Dorcas feel as though she were drowning. If Dorcas liked the common room at any time, she liked it best in the early morning, when the light was gray and new. The morbid sound of the water in the lake seemed quieter when she was the sole occupant.

All around lay the debris of the previous night— candy wrappers, gobstones, playing cards, books. Underneath a chocolate frog, Dorcas caught sight of the blocky red letters of the pamphlet from the night before, last glimpsed between the Mulciber’s fingers. Dorcas picked it up and smoothed out the crumples.

Her blood ran cold. Her immediate questions were, who could write such blatant, harmful lies? Who would print them? Dorcas’s hands shook with suppressed rage. She could feel her heart beating behind her ears. A sound on the staircase of the girls’ dormitories snapped Dorcas out of her rage-daze. She pocketed the pamphlet quickly, and walked out of the common room.

* * *

At Slytherin table in the Great Hall, Dorcas sat with what seemed like the only Slytherin who would come near her— the Bloody Baron— and munched on toast and eggs as Slughorn strolled along the table, handing out schedules. When he stopped in front of Dorcas, she could see that his moss-green robes were joined over his round stomach by a silver chain that resembled a snake; it glinted in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“O.W.L.s of Outstanding in all your subjects, and an Exceeds Expectations in Muggle Studies, so you’re clear to continue, Miss Shacklebolt!” Slughorn brandished a blank parchment, tapped it with his wand, and cheerily held it out to Dorcas, which she snatched eagerly. Slughorn did not move on, however. He continued to beam down at Dorcas.

“And I’ll be sending out invitations to the Slug Club chaps very soon! Hope to see you there!”

Dorcas gave her head of house a noncommittal little smile. Slughorn seemed satisfied. Dorcas picked up her schedule to look at it.

Herbology first, followed by double Defense— Dorcas would soon find out more about Professor Asante then.

“See ya, Baron,” said Dorcas as she piled two more pieces of toast on a napkin, and refilled her cup of coffee. The Baron gave a grunt in acknowledgement and rattled his chain as Dorcas grabbed her schedule and bookbag, and headed over to Hufflepuff table.

“What have you got?” she asked, sitting down opposite Alfred. He briefly paused in eating his kippers to show her his schedule, and returned to them while she read it over.

“You have Defense Against the Dark Arts first, good, you can pass judgement, and let me know before I have her double N.E.W.T class,” she said, handing it back. Alfred swallowed quite a lot of food, very quickly.

“Double Defense, N.E.W.T. level, huh?” he said, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, yeah” said Dorcas, hearing the note of terror in his voice and dismissing it. “You’ve got a year before it starts. I’ve got ten minutes.”

Dorcas’s eye was caught by a flash of red— Lily was talking to Professor McGonagall the very next table over. Lily and McGonagall were both holding onto the same small piece of parchment.

“Still want to become a healer?” said McGonagall in a voice that hinted at her skepticism.

Dorcas could see Lily’s face, which betrayed her surprise at being quizzed so soon.

Lily swallowed. “I th-think so,” she said.

McGonagall made a quiet “hmm” noise and let go of the parchment. Lily looked over her schedule. Suddenly, she glanced up and met Dorcas’s eye.

“Are you going to talk to her?” said Alfred, as he looked over his shoulder to see what Dorcas had been looking at. Dorcas looked at him, and, shoving her last morsel of toast into her mouth, replied, “Got Herbodge, now, be’er go.”

Dorcas stood up, grabbed her schedule, slung her bookbag over her shoulder, and left the Great Hall.

* * *

 

Herbology lesson was uplifting, as Professor Sprout launched into a lesson about Acoustic Vines, or _Epipremnum Acousticum_ — resembling bright green Pothos vines, young Acoustic Vines emitted a low, luminous hum. They spread their leaves in a fantastic display if you harmonized with them, which Professor Sprout had Mary demonstrate with a lovely progression of perfectly pitched notes issuing from her lips. Sprout then warned that their mature forms were capable of driving a person mad: a mature Acoustic Vine’s audio frequency short-circuited the brain, causing visions. Some wizard herbological historians have hypothesized that Vincent Van Gogh’s painting genius and eventual madness were caused by exposure to a mature Acoustic Vine, which are commonly found in Southern and Western Europe. The luminous hum of the young Acoustic Vine, vibrating in the warm gold of the September sunshine filled Dorcas with hope, reminded her that this was the first day of classes. This was the start of the year, another chance for things to change their course yet.

Dorcas and Mary walked together back into the cool castle and up to Defense, where Alfred was just exiting, his Defense textbook tucked under his arm. Dorcas looked at him with the question in her face, but he stopped her before she’d even started.

“You’ll just have to find out for yourself,” he said. He seemed to be trying to hold back a smile, as if he were about to bestow on them an enormously amusing and incredible gift.

* * *

 

The moment the bell rang, Lily sped out of Greenhouse Five and ran up the castle stairs to the second floor, where the Head Room was situated right next to the Staff Room. There, her eyes scanned the cork message board: There were no new announcements about prefect meetings. Lily sighed and began to turn away, until a crumpled pamphlet caught her eye. Bright red woodblock letters spelled _Icenian Inquirer_ on the front, and a red stamp read:

 

[CONFISCATED: Sep 1, 1976 - Rav. Pref.]

 

Lily tore down the _Inquirer_ from the message board, furiously scanning the headlines printed. _Who would write such brutal, heinous things_ , she thought. She felt her cheeks grow very hot; it seemed as though her very blood were boiling with anger.

 

The bell rang, signalling the beginning of the next lesson. Lily stuffed the pamphlet in her bag and ran off to N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts.

 

* * *

 

As the sixth years walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, they were met with Professor Asante standing in the front of the room. Now that Lily was closer to Professor Asante, she could see that the professor wore a small gold ring in her right nostril. All around on all four walls were large pieces of parchment— on closer inspection, they turned out to be posters on which were printed, in clear, elegant typography, and with colored illustrations, the names and descriptions of Dark Creatures, poisonous plants, and instructions for performing complex protective charms.

“Welcome to N.E.W.T.-level Defense Against the Dark Arts. I am Professor Asante. In my classroom you will encounter mostly theory, with a few practical modules that will be featured in your exams. We will begin your N.E.W.T. years by practicing performing protective spells nonverbally. You will be taught how to recognize maleficium, including dark potions, poisons and antidotes. In your last term you’ll focus on learning new protective enchantments, such as Disillusionment Charms. During your time in this classroom you will find out how to defend yourselves against Legilimency, how to recognize traces left by Dark Magic, and how to obscure your existence with a Fidelius charm.”

Professor Asante looked very seriously about the room. “Are there any questions? No? Let’s get started.”

Professor Asante assigned pairs. Lily was paired with Remus, and they set to work attempting to produce shield charms wordlessly. After a few tries, Lily took the role of jinxer, while Remus attempted to deflect her jinx.

“This isn’t too bad,” said Lily as the air in front of Remus shimmered with his nonverbal Shield Charm. Lily cast a Jelly Legs Jinx that didn’t do much more than make Remus’s knees wobble.

“You’re not trying very hard to jinx me,” said Remus in response as he cast a _Finite Incantatem_ at his lower half.

“Well, I don’t want to jinx you,” Lily said as she threw up a Shield that flickered out. She was hit with Remus’s Noogie Jinx, and her hair was suddenly tousled and her scalp a little tender.

“What do you think of Asante,” Lily asked. Remus looked thoughtfully at the professor, who was now walking amongst the pairs, reminding those who were whispering their spells that they ought not to be speaking at all. Lily and Remus watched Potter produce a silent and flawless Shield, blocking Black’s lazily cast but technically perfect and equally silent Stunning spell. Lily let her gaze roam over the rest of the class. Dorcas looked very comfortable, producing wordless Shield Charm after wordless Shield Charm as Fenwick tossed out jinx after jinx. Mary and Peter were both students that Asante was watching closely for whispering. Lily and Remus turned to each other again.

“Asante seems to be at least as good as McGonagall, Flitwick, Slughorn and Kettleburn. Compared with our previous Defense professors, that’s saying something.”

Lily nodded as she thought back to her previous five Defense professors. Professor Nevins in Lily’s first year had started speaking in tongues around Easter holidays, while Professor Junius, who taught Defense in her second year, got married at Christmas and was in the middle of her second trimester by the end of Lily’s third term; Professor Franklin had fallen in love with the witch who taught Divination and they eloped to Switzerland at the end of Lily’s third year; Professor Lennox caught Dragon Pox and was quarantined at St. Mungo’s for four weeks in February; in the meantime he’d been replaced by Slughorn acting as substitute. Lennox returned, and though his skin had a greenish tinge, and smoke sometimes unfurled from his nostrils when he was angry, he seemed well enough to at least continue until his contract was up. And the smoke did help when his students got out of line. Finally, Professor Dalrymple hadn’t been all that distracted at all; on the contrary, he’d taught them how to cast a shield charm, and Patronus theory. Nothing traumatic had happened to him, except perhaps after everyone had gone home for the summer holidays, when Dalrymple had been abducted and detained briefly by the Dark Force Defence League under the mistaken impression that he was a Death Eater in disguise and had been teaching his students the Dark Arts. Dalrymple’s ego seemed to have taken a hit, because he refused to return. Now, here was Professor Asante, with her posters on the walls, her competent-sounding syllabus, and her audacious nosering.

Lily looked up at the poster on the wall that was closest to her. It read, “Fidelius Charm. Incantation: _Adiuro animam intrinsecus latet. Adiuro intus animae latuit. Apud illos qui in scientia moritur moriatur._ There was a cluster of symbols, one that Lily recognized as the rune, Pertho, “unknown.” And there was text describing the spell: _The complex Fidelius Charm hides a secret inside another living human soul, who is called the Secret Keeper._ Lily had the strangest desire to reach out and touch the rune symbol with her fingers. There was a rush of air in her ears—

“Miss Evans?”

Lily pulled her hand back as if burned by flame. “Professor, I was just—”

“—Looking at the posters,” said Professor Asante, more of a statement than a question. Lily nodded. “It’s alright,” Asante said. She smiled. Lily smiled back.

Still looking at Lily, and without turning to address Remus, Asante said, “switch with Potter, Lupin.” Lily watched in mute, barely concealed horror as Remus went over to the other side of the room and tapped Potter on the shoulder. He turned and they exchanged a few words. Lily saw Potter glance at her and make a pained face, which he quickly straightened into a blank expression, before walking over to stand in front of Lily.

“Now let’s see that Shield Charm, Lily,” Asante said.

Lily dug her heels in and braced herself for Potter’s attack. He also bent his knees and set his arms in an offensive position. Lily took a deep breath. It happened very quickly: Potter swung his arm back and let loose a spell at the exact moment that Lily swung forward and wordlessly produced a perfect Shield Charm, a layer of solid air that blurred the outlines of James Potter. His jinx hit the shield and bounced, striking the light fixture above, knocking it out. Asante repaired it quickly and Lily prepared to cast a spell at Potter. At the moment that she swiped a Bat-Bogey Hex at him, a Shield Charm bloomed smoothly from his wand, knocking her hex into a desk leg, causing it to wobble. Potter sent a _Reparo_ after it and prepared to send another spell at Lily. She, perhaps a bit prematurely, produced a Shield Charm that resembled more of a bubble than a shield, encasing her momentarily in a haze of protective magic. A flash of —was it awe?— passed over Potter’s face before he raised his wand once more. He was stopped by Asante who stepped in and said, “That’s enough.” She turned to Lily and said, “Evans, you can produce a perfect and powerful nonverbal Shield Charm when faced with Potter, yet your Shield Charm was weak and unstable when faced with Lupin. Why do you think that is?”

Lily gaped at Asante. She’d never been put on the spot unwillingly by a teacher before. Somehow she felt the question was very personal too. Asante did not wait for Lily to answer.

“Two feet of parchment on my desk next Monday morning answering my question.” And Asante turned away to write the homework assignments on the blackboard, which included preparing to produce a perfect wordless Shield Charm next class. Lily thought about her additional essay and watched as Potter turned and walked back to his desk without so much as a glance at her.

* * *

 

“That was brilliant!” exclaimed Dorcas as she and Mary left the classroom on their way to lunch.

“My shields were weak,” noted Mary, but Dorcas wouldn’t have it.

“They were good, you just need a little practice,” Dorcas said charitably. Then a feverish glint appeared in her eyes. “Want to drop in on Alfred and practice in Hufflepuff common room later this week?”

“Sure,” laughed Mary. Dorcas was always trying to spend time in the Hufflepuff Basement, and she was always getting thrown out by the Fat Friar.

“Did you see me accidentally set fire to Pettigrew’s robes?” Mary asked as they made their way into the Great Hall.

“Did you see Pettigrew set fire to Black’s robes?” Dorcas countered, with a laugh.

The Great Hall was full of chattering students as Dorcas and Mary walked in. Mary waved to Alfred, who was seated at Hufflepuff table. She rushed forward to sit down next to him. Dorcas took a seat across from her friends.

“Oh, here comes Lily, hope she comes to sit with us,” said Mary, looking in the direction of the oak double doors. Dorcas turned to look. There was Lily, red hair blazing in the sunlight shining down from the enchanted ceiling.

Dorcas held her breath as Mary waved her over. Dorcas didn’t look up as she heard her approach.

“Hello Mary, hello Alfred,” said Lily. She turned to look at Dorcas head-on.

“Hello Dorcas,” said Lily. Dorcas looked up at her. Lily was smiling slightly, her back and shoulder set very straight.

“Hello, Lily,” said Dorcas. Lily sat down next to her at their end of the table. As Dorcas scooched over, Lily bumped her hip against Dorcas’s, causing the paper in Dorcas’s pocket to crunch.

“What’s that in your pocket,” said Lily, looking down at it. Dorcas was seized then with a sudden panic. What would Lily think when she showed her the pamphlet? She couldn’t lie about it, Lily could _see_ it.

Dorcas decided to be honest, and if Lily didn’t like that, well, Dorcas would leave.

She reached in and slowly withdrew the pamphlet with the blocky red letters. She smoothed it out and laid it on the table, saying, “I saw it in the common room this morning, so I don’t know who it belongs to. I guess I was going to bring it to Slughorn or someone in the end, but I sort of forgot about it until now.”

Lily studied the pamphlet now very closely. Then, she looked away and began digging in her own bookbag. Dorcas, Mary and Alfred all watched her silently, as she pulled out a crumpled parchment pamphlet, with blocky red letters on the front. She smoothed it out and laid it next to Dorcas’s, saying, “A prefect had confiscated this yesterday. I found it in the Head Room.”

The identical pamphlets both bore the title _Icenian Inquirer_ in bright red woodblock letters. The headlines were smushed onto the front page in different sized and different colored fonts; a green title read: _Former Minister Jenkins’ Reported Love Child with a Squib_. An orange title read: _Mudbloods Run Out of Puddlemere_ — _Crime Rate Drops_. _Malfoy Making Strides for Pro-Pure Legislation as Minchum Fumbles Muggle Protection Committee_ was printed in a corner in blue, and _Blood Purity Under Threat By Increase of Mudblood Births Across the United Kingdom_ — _Nott Reports_ was printed down the side in yellow.

Mary shook her head in disbelief. Alfred swallowed. He looked up with wide eyes at Dorcas. She read fear in them, and sorrow, too. Dorcas, as the only pureblood witch in their group, felt she had to say something in response.

“It’s disgusting,” she said, though it felt like a very inadequate descriptor. Lily nodded and looked up, with a determined look in her eye.

“I’m going to bring it to Dumbledore,” she said.

Dorcas agreed. Suddenly bringing such a rag to Slughorn seemed like a foolish idea.

“I’ll go with you.” It seemed to mark the beginning of their friendship.

* * *

 

After double Charms and Transfiguration, Lily and Dorcas dropped off their bookbags in their dorms, and met again in the entrance hall.

Lily and Dorcas headed up the stairs together, to Dumbledore’s office. Once they were in the corridor outside his office, facing the gargoyle, they realized they didn’t have a password. They waited. After several minutes, Dorcas suggested they go to the staffroom. If they could find McGonagall, they could ask to be escorted up to Dumbledore. And if they found Slughorn, Dorcas could surely convince her head of house to do the same. They were just about to turn around and head for the staircase when the gargoyle jumped to life and sprang to the side, revealing Professor McGonagall. She greeted the girls and in response, they asked if they could see Dumbledore.

“He’s awfully busy at the moment,” said Professor McGonagall. Lily nudged Dorcas, who looked at her. Lily made a motion with her head as though to say, “show her.” Dorcas tried to indicate her reluctance to do so, afraid that McGonagall would confiscate it.

“Do you have something that should be brought to my attention,” asked Professor McGonagall. She was getting impatient, Dorcas could tell, but she couldn’t let her have the _Inquirer_.

Just then, the gargoyle sprang to life again, and out stepped Dumbledore. Dorcas and Lily rushed forward, and he lowered his half-moon glasses at them. Lily began by saying, “a prefect found something and confiscated it. I don’t know who, but I’ve seen Mulciber with it recently. And he has a history of bullying muggleborns, as you well know.”

Dumbledore shared a glance with McGonagall, who seemed about to ask the meaning of all this, when Dumbledore stepped aside and said, “Please, come in.”

Lily and Dorcas followed Dumbledore up the stairs, and into his office. Dorcas drew the paper out of her pocket and handed it to him. Dumbledore gave the paper a stern look, but threw a kind smile to the girls.

“Your concern and initiative are admirable, Miss Shacklebolt and Miss Evans. But I’m afraid there’s not much to be done about a paper such as this. The editor is protected by Wizarding Libel Law, and besides, banning it will only help them proliferate.”

“What are you doing about it, Professor Dumbledore?” asked Dorcas. Lily turned to look at her. Dorcas suddenly felt that if anyone were going to be doing anything about a paper clearly run by death-eaters, it would be Dumbledore.

Dumbledore only give Dorcas a steady gaze over his glasses before sliding them back up his nose.

“That is, what is your plan of action in these troubled times, sir?” Dorcas asked again, trying to rephrase her question so that it might have a chance of being answered, but she had no such luck.

“Rest assured, your concerns are taken into account, Miss Shacklebolt.”

“Professor?” said Dorcas, who was fighting the impulse to be rude. Dumbledore turned to look at her.

“Do send my regards to your brother, Miss Shacklebolt,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.

Dumbledore moved back around his desk, sat down, and the subject seemed quite closed. Lily took Dorcas’s arm and they left the office.

As the two girls walked away from Dumbledore’s office, Dorcas scoffed while Lily rolled her eyes.

“Why didn’t you show the paper to McGonagall,” Lily asked with a tinge of annoyance.

“I was afraid she’d confiscate it.”

Lily huffed, crossing her arms. “And why did you press Dumbledore?” she said.

Dorcas was rolling her eyes now. She continued, “He wasn’t saying anything. He’s the king of non-answers.” Dorcas threw up her hands. “What does he mean by “send my regards to your brother?”

Lily scratched her chin thoughtfully.

“Do they know each other?”

“How should I know,” Dorcas snapped. Lily pressed on.

“Because if they know each other, perhaps your brother can tell us something that Dumbledore can’t.”

Dorcas stopped dead and shared a significant look with Lily.

“I’m going up to the Owlery,” said Dorcas suddenly. “See you at dinner?”

Lily nodded, and Dorcas turned to head in the opposite direction.

When she reached the owlery, the light was fading; she reached into her pocket for a pencil, and grabbed a scrap of paper off the floor.

“ _Hello, Kinglsey! How are you?_ ” she scribbled. “ _Hope it’s sunny in London. By the way, what do you know about the Icenian Inquirer? Also, are you doing anything about it?”_ Dorcas folded the scrap of paper and called down a school owl. She tied the scruffy-looking letter to the rather self-important looking owl, and watched it fly away into the gathering darkness of evening.

* * *

 

In the library, Lily walked through the stacks, staring unseeingly at the titles and having a good long think. Why could she produce a perfect Shield Charm when faced with Potter, but couldn’t do the same when faced with Lupin? Lily thought back to her feelings when Potter readied to jinx her in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Lily remembered that her hands were shaking slightly. Was her heart also beating faster at the time? Was that it? Was she afraid? But, of course, who wouldn’t be afraid when they know someone is about to cast a spell at them? So her ability to produce a proper shield charm nonverbally must be about fear. It seemed simple enough.

Lily pulled down _The_ _Standard Book of Spells Grade 6,_ opened it to the chapter on Shield Charms, and picked out a copy of _Advanced Defensive Theory vol. 11_ and, laying it open on a table, turned to the chapter about adrenaline-fuelled magical responses. Then, she sat down to write her essay about the influence of fear on magic. An hour and a half later, Lily had finished her response, and she confidently shut the books. Just as she was leaving the library, she saw Mary walking down the corridor. Lily flagged her down and they began walking up to their respective dormitory towers.

“What did Dumbledore say?” said Mary. “About the _Icenian Inquirer_ ? What a dumb name really, as if they’re trying to prove that their magic is rooted in Britishness, that muggleborns are something foreign, even in Britain.” Mary shook her head as she climbed the stairs with Lily. Her features were contorted with revulsion. “And calling themselves the _Inquirer_ , as if they were all about investigating the truth, when in fact all they’re doing is making up lies.” They had arrived at the Fat Lady, where Lily gave the password, and the portrait swung open.

Mary rolled her eyes and scoffed. She looked at Lily very matter-of-factly and said “Dumbledore for sure and certain has something up his sleeve on this, you’ve just got to find out what.” And with that, Mary turned and walked down the corridor, toward her own dormitory.

Stepping through the portrait hole, which closed behind her, Lily saw that Potter and Black were standing very close to the entrance. Lily walked toward the red sofa, sat down, and opened a book.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily noticed Potter exchange looks with Pettigrew, who nodded, stood up, and went quietly up to the dormitory. After a minute, Potter, clapping a hand on Black’s shoulder, followed him up the stairs.

A few minutes later, Black turned to Lupin and said, “I think I’ll nip down to the kitchens for a snack.” He walked to the portrait hole, opened it, and it swung closed behind him. Lily glanced at Remus, who had taken up a book and was reading at the end of the sofa, quite unfazed by the departure of his three friends. Something didn’t seem right to Lily. Pettigrew and Potter were up to something, Lily thought. But her line of inner questioning was interrupted by the cluster of squeals and screams in a corner of the tower, where several third year girls were jumping up onto chairs and tables, yelling, “Rat! I just saw a rat!” Remus placidly turned a page in his book, never even looking up.

  



	5. Kingsley's Letter

 

“I just don’t understand how I never knew you were in Slytherin,” whispered Lily.

“Well, I don’t wear my tie often and I almost never sit with my house in the Great Hall—” Dorcas returned in a low voice.

“It’s been  _ five years _ . I’ve seen you in class  _ every day _ ,” Lily pressed. Dorcas pursed her lips, not eager to explain her discomfort in her own house.

“Alright, sometimes I wear Alfred’s ties—” she mumbled. But Lily wasn’t satisfied.

“I just don’t understand. How could I not  _ know _ ?”

Lily and Dorcas were sitting in the library, their table strewn with open textbooks. Dorcas and Lily were both busily trying to force the week to pass quickly as they waited for Dorcas’s brother to write back. Their workload— Dorcas and Lily’s N.E.W.T. year, and Alfred’s O.W.L. course work— did not make this difficult. They were flipping through their massive textbooks when Alfred walked into the library and sat down heavily next to Dorcas, his bookbag thumping to the ground. Lily raised her eyebrows.

“That thing must weigh a couple stone at least by the sound of it,” said Dorcas, as Alfred wiped his brow. 

“Sprout has us keeping a garden journal. We have to be in the greenhouses every day taking care of bloody fickle plants. And about a million essays and papers and spell practice on top of that.”

Dorcas smiled mischievously. “Wait till you get to N.E.W.T. year,” she said. “Thirty pages worth of reading on zymological magic, conjuration practice, and mock exam papers in  _ this week alone _ … If they weren’t nastily exhausting, they would just be called Wizarding Tests. Be thankful yours are  _ ordinary _ ,” she laughed bitterly.

“Thanks for putting my misery in perspective, Shacklebolt,” Alfred said in a deadpan way. 

“Talk to me about misery in eight months,” she retorted.

Madame Pince, who was passing by with a stack of books in her arms, raised her finger to her lips and made a shushing sound. Behind her, Dorcas heard a sigh.

“I do love it when she shushes,” whispered the voice who sighed. Dorcas turned around and saw that the voice belonged to a blonde, seventh year girl that she didn’t know well. Her chin was propped in one hand, gazing moonily after a perfectly oblivious Madame Pince.

Her brown-haired friend rolled her eyes. Then she glanced at Dorcas, who experienced several things at once. At the moment that she looked into the girl’s dark brown, black-lashed eyes, Dorcas felt a lightning bolt strike the top of her head and travel through her body, down to her feet. The air in her lungs seemed to catch fire. Dorcas turned away quickly. Reeling, she tried to quietly catch her breath. At the same time, she wanted to look again at the beautiful girl, to be electrified again. 

“I gotta go. I only stopped in to rest on my way to Defense. Asante’s not going to like that I still haven’t mastered Shield Charms,” said Alfred, getting up, and hoisting his massive bookbag over his shoulder.

“Are you okay, Dorcas,” said Lily, regarding Dorcas with concern. 

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to believe her own words. She collected herself enough to throw Alfred a sympathetic look.

“I’ll come by the basement later. We’ll practice,” she promised. Alfred beamed at this, but his smile was wiped away quickly by Lily.

“We’re on patrol tonight, remember?” she said. 

“I’ll come with you!” said Dorcas, quickly. “I’ll meet you both in the entrance hall.”

“That sounds good,” said Lily, as Alfred waved goodbye. He stood up and walked, with drooping shoulders, out of the library. Dorcas heaved a sigh and returned to her essay on zymological magic and mock exam papers. However, her attention was diverted again when she realized that Lily was still looking up, at a point over Dorcas’s shoulder. Dorcas followed the line of her gaze, and turned around. There between the stacks, two aisles down, James Potter had locked eyes with Lily. Then, he looked about wildly, as though attempting to look at anything besides Lily, before turning on his heel and disappearing behind the bookshelf, where, apparently, his friend Sirius Black was standing as well. 

“Oi, mate, why are you going backwards— the circulation desk is that way!” 

Dorcas saw Black poke his head out from between the bookshelves and softly mutter, “Oh,” before drawing back behind the bookshelf. There was a pause, in which Lily, with reddened cheeks, lowered her head, pretending to be deeply engrossed in her mock exam paper. But her eyes weren’t moving. Dorcas knew that Lily was listening for Potter and Black’s footsteps, hoping desperately for them to leave the library, so that she need not die of embarrassment.

Looking up again, Dorcas could now see the backs of two dark-haired heads as Black and Potter walked quickly out of the library, their books abandoned on the shelves. Dorcas shook her head at the awkwardness of it all. In the embarrassment she felt on Lily’s behalf, she bent her own head over her essay, and continued to work until the bell rang for the next class.

* * *

 

In Greenhouse Five, Professor Sprout was pointing to a midnight blue globe around which revolved 28 tiny golden moons in varying states of transition.

“Last week was the full moon, so this week the moon is waning, which means that at the next  _ new moon _ in a week’s time, we will be repotting the Belladonna seeds that we are going to be sowing today. It sounds like a quick turn-over, but trust me, Belladonna doesn’t fool around. Now....”

Professor Sprout snapped a measuring tape taut, demonstrating the correct amount of space to leave between each seed (“This is a very  _ particular  _ plant, it requires exact work!”). Lily was watching her straightedge measure out forty-five centimeters on either side of the hole she’d dug for her belladonna seeds when Dorcas turned to her.

“Tea at Slughorn’s tomorrow afternoon, you coming?”

Lily sighed. Her straightedge flipped over to measure the other side. 

“I hate going to those,” she said. “But I suppose I’ll be there.”

“Again,” said Sprout from the front of the greenhouse. “When are we repotting the Belladonna?”

Lily raised her hand and said, “In a week’s time, at the new moon.”

“Correct, five points to Gryffindor,” Sprout said, as she turned to hand out more trowels.

At a table nearby, Stebbins and Olsen were discussing the upcoming quidditch training schedule. “...This coming week, yeah. Gryffindor, too.”

“I hope they replace Jones. I can’t stand to see her on a broom, with each side drooping over.”

“Yeah, what a hag.” Stebbins and Olsen snickered nastily.

“Actually, a hag is a dark creature.” said a voice to Lily’s left, and she turned to see that it was Potter. He had a look on his face that suggested he was trying very hard to suppress his outrage. “Jones is a quidditch player with more talent than either of you put together. Must be why Ravenclaw is in fourth place this year.”

Stebbins and Olsen screwed up their faces, hands in their robes, as though they were about to retaliate against Potter for his interruption when they dropped their gardening tools in surprise— green leaves were sprouting from their ears.

“Leeks!” Cried out Professor Sprout. She looked around sternly at the class. Lily did too and noticed that one of Potter’s hands was hidden inside his robes. Stebbins and Olsen were touching their ears gingerly and knocking over watering cans in their panic over the leeks coming out of their ears. “Who has been jinxing Stebbins and Olsen?!”

Aphra Arden, from her place next to Lily, looked like she was about to give Potter away. Lily was torn. Allow Arden, who was a prefect, to do the right thing and nab Potter, losing Gryffindor house points she’d just earned them in the process? Or silence Arden somehow, even though it would mean letting Potter off for yet another infraction, going against not only Lily’s own prefect-ish loyalty but also every fiber of her Potter-hating being?

Before Lily even realized she’d come to a decision, she’d thought a silent  _ langlock _ jinx, her wand pointing under the table at her neighbor, Arden.  _ Forgive me _ , she thought, as Arden clutched at her throat and made awful gagging noises. 

Professor Sprout looked quite frustrated at the chaos erupting in Greenhouse five: “Olsen, No! Don’t pull them out by hand! Arden, you didn’t  _ eat the belladonna seed _ , did you, it’s  _ poisonous _ , girl! Lupin! Chang! Please take Stebbins, Olsen and Arden to the infirmary!”

Remus and Wilfred Chang dropped their trowels and hurried over into the thick of the scene. Sprout was mopping her brow as the five of them exited the greenhouse, leaning her shoulder against the trunk of a small tree, whose branches were moving to wrap around her lovingly, as though in embrace. Dorcas was chuckling behind her trowel. Lily surveyed the scene with a mixture of amusement and guilt, until she met eyes with Potter. She felt a swooping in her stomach—should go to Pomfrey, she thought— and was expecting that familiar smirk to cross his face as she’d seen so many times when a prank had gone to his liking. But he looked down at his school bag and pulled out a notebook, presumably to mark down the date he’d sowed his belladonna seeds. 

 

* * *

 

Lily was looking forward to the first S.H.I.M.M.E.R. meeting of the term that afternoon. 

S.H.I.M.M.E.R. was a club that Lily had founded the previous year, partly as a study group for the Charms O.W.L., and partly as a joint venture with a certain half-blood wizard and childhood best friend with a talent for coming up with his own spells and potions. Lily then found it was a great way to bond with other students over shared fascinations with spell-invention.

The concept of magic was such a shock and a delight to Lily when she’d found out about it at age 10. Her first question had been, where does it all come from? And when she’d arrived at Hogwarts she read every book she could get her hands on about the development of magic throughout history. And when she’d learned that magic was still being invented, and improved, and studied, that it was a  _ living _ project, her next question was, how do I get in on it?

And so began S.H.I.M.M.E.R. — the Society for Hypothetical Investigations in Model Magical Experimentation and Research — a group she’d formed with other students who she’d noticed were interested in developments in magical research. Pandora Fawley was recruited early on— a Ravenclaw one year above Lily with a penchant for inventing latin phrases and wand movements to go with them. Every once in a while a spell would go awry, singeing Pandora’s eyebrows or setting her skirt on fire, but it only seemed to make Pandora more committed.

Gilbert Wimple, fellow prefect and Hufflepuff sixth year, kept abreast of the work of the Committee on Experimental Charms. He harbored a passion to join the committee upon his graduation from Hogwarts. He was a dead useful resource on Charm theory during O.W.L. preparations, having studied extensively outside of class.

Finally, Lily had noticed that new prefect Mitra Patil carried a copy of  _ Transfiguration Today _ with her everywhere she went. When Lily asked her about it, Patil answered that while there was more room for creative expression in Charms, the rigor of Transfiguration made research in the field all the more interesting to her. Lily recruited her on the spot. 

They were meeting in the Charms classroom, which Flitwick let them use so long as he could sit in on the meetings. Lily had come prepared with a copy of the latest issue of  _ Experimental Enchantments Review _ as the topic of their discussion. 

“Have you read the article about the latest developments in enchanted mechanics?” said Pandora. “Apparently this witch has come up with a new set of spells.” 

“I read about that!” Lily said excitedly. “Fewer spells, more streamlined, it will make enchanting mechanical objects so much more accessible for everyday witches and wizards.” 

“We’ll see what the Committee on Experimental Charms will have to say about it,” said Gilbert, a bit haughtily. “Regulations and all that.”

“Yes, experimental magic comes with a heavy dose of bureaucracy,” said Mitra disapprovingly. “Look at Transfiguration registration. It’s not just for Animagi.”

“As it happens,” Flitwick piped up from his extra tall chair next to the blackboard. “There are a number of sources you might look into—  _ The British Magical Patent System  _ by Levina Monkstanley, and —ah—  _ Out of the Primordial Muck: On Enchanted Industry _ by Elliot Smethwyck!”

Gilbert Wimple wrote down the titles of the books Flitwick had just suggested on a scrap of parchment. Then he said, “Anyway, it’s often a matter of the make of your wand. Mine is Aspen, which is superior in regards to charmwork.”

Mitra Patil rolled her eyes. “It isn’t all a matter of wand make,” she said exasperatedly.

“Says you,” said Gilbert. “What have you got?”

“Red Oak; what’s it to you,” Mitra shot back.

“Of course,” said Gilbert, leaning back in his chair in a self-satisfied way. “A hot temper.”

Mitra was mumbling something about the danger of a hot temper and bloated gas-bags as she glared at Gilbert when Pandora cut in. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Pandora. “Ollivander had me try out a Red Oak and he told me it wasn’t true what they say about the wand-owner’s temper.”

“What’s yours,” said Mitra.

“Apple. ‘Best suited to an owner of high aims and ideals,’” Pandora quoted. 

“Perfect for someone interested in the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw,” Lily added.

“Well it’s fascinating, isn’t it,” Pandora said, her wide eyes lighting up. “What’s your wand made of, Lily?”

“Willow,” Lily answered, unconsciously moving her hand to pat the pocket where she stowed her wand.

“I wonder what Severus’s wand was made of. We never did ask him, did we Gilbert?” said Pandora off-handedly.

“Who is Severus?” Mitra asked, although no one had seemed to hear her. Gilbert and Pandora had turned to look at Lily.

“Where’s Severus, Lily?” asked Pandora. She always did have a knack for direct questions at inappropriate times. Lily recovered quickly.

“Severus won’t be joining us any longer.”

“Is it because he called you—” Gilbert leaned forward and whispered, “— _ the m-word _ ?” 

“That’s a bit off-topic,” said Lily curtly.

“Who is Severus?” Mitra repeated.

“James Potter is awfully quiet lately, too. Did you do something to him?” said Pandora, leaning forward.

“Maybe he finally gave up!” Gilbert added, and Pandora nodded her head. “Asked you out every day for a year, didn’t he?” said Gilbert. 

“If there’s no more experimental magic to discuss, this meeting is adjourned,” Lily hissed through her teeth, regarding Gilbert and Pandora with narrowed eyes. Mitra asked, “Who is Severus?” once more, though Lily didn’t hear as she gathered her things and left the meeting.

* * *

 

After classes that afternoon, Dorcas followed Alfred through the barrel into the Hufflepuff basement common room.

Dorcas smiled at the familiar round, low-ceilinged room. The late afternoon sun streamed in through porthole-like windows near the ceiling, causing the blades of grass and the dandelions that were visible through them to glint in the light. Potted plants were everywhere, including mundane cacti, flowering Dittany, rippling Fluxweed and potted pansies.

The armchairs and sofas were upholstered in black and yellow fabric, and a painting of Helga Hufflepuff watched over the whole scene from a place of honor above the mantle, which was honey-colored, and covered in carvings of frolicking badgers.

Alfred led Dorcas to an armchair near the hearth, past the message board. An announcement caught Dorcas’s eye, and she stopped to read it aloud.

“First Hogsmeade trip is set for the beginning of next month. Are you going?”

“Yeah, it should be fun. I was thinking of asking Mary,” said Alfred as he settled on an armchair. 

“We’re all going together, I thought,” said Dorcas as she came to sit opposite him. 

“You know what I mean,” said Alfred, now visibly uncomfortable. Dorcas was nonplussed, until she noticed his cheeks darkening.

“Oh,” she chortled as realization dawned on her. She smirked. “Are you all caught up on the birds and the bees, then, or do you need a chart drawn up,” she said.

“Shut up, you,” said Alfred, trying very hard not to smile.

“Will you be needing a demonstration? I have to know now, Cato and Ligeia have to be booked way in advance,” Dorcas snickered.

He suddenly looked very pained. “Please don’t,” he groaned. Dorcas gave Alfred a sympathetic look.

“Shall we practice shield charms, then? I’ll help you with your technique, look, your wand grip is too limp…”

Dorcas pulled out her wand and demonstrated her Shield Charm, gripping the handle firmly. Alfred pulled out his and did the same, studying Dorcas’s hand carefully in order to approximate her method.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dorcas noticed a flash of silver on the wall. She did not realize it was a figure gliding toward her until it was too late. 

“No Non-Hufflepuffs in Hufflepuff Basement!” said the Fat Friar in a stern voice. He floated toward Dorcas, who ran to grab her bookbag.

“I guess we’ll practice late— Argh!” she exclaimed as the Fat Friar floated through her. She brushed at her arms as though she could wipe away the feeling of being soaked in cold water.

“I’ll meet you in the entrance hall,” Dorcas called to Alfred as she rushed out of Hufflepuff basement, followed closely by the Hufflepuff ghost.

 

* * *

 

An hour after dinner, Dorcas left the library where she’d been studying to meet Alfred and Lily in the gloomy, empty entrance hall. The windows were black with night, and the light of the flaming sconces caused the shadows made by suits of armor and columns to flicker. 

“We’re on East Wing patrol tonight. Just checking broom cupboards and behind statues and tapestries for students out of bed or anything unusual.”

The footsteps of Dorcas, Alfred and Lily echoed loudly on the marble staircase. While walking the halls, they chatted some more about the progress they’d made on their homework, Dorcas regaled Alfred with the tale of that morning’s herbology lesson, and Lily told Dorcas and Alfred about the conversation she’d tried  _ not  _ to have at her first S.H.I.M.M.E.R meeting. 

The trio had fallen silent as they walked along a corridor lined with a tapestry depicting centaurs on a hunt when Dorcas heard a voice.

She motioned to Lily and Alfred as she edged closer to the tapestry.

“This is bad, Padfoot. How did they get this information? To have this happening at the same time as a school trip, it’s—”

“But how could Dumbledore not know? What is he going to do about it?”

“Maybe there isn’t anything he can do…”

Dorcas took out her wand and cast a silent  _ silencio  _ at her shoes and tiptoed soundlessly over to the tapestry. Lily and Alfred did the same and followed her. Peeking through the gap between the tapestry and the wall, they could see three figures lit from behind by a flaming sconce that revealed another staircase. One was thin, with messy hair, and he seemed to be wearing glasses. Another was taller, with longer hair— he ran his hand through it, allowing it fall about gracefully. The third was short and stocky, with hair that stuck up at the back, and he held a crumpled parchment in his left hand. The messy-haired one spoke then to the short stocky one.

“Wormtail, you have to keep watching him. You have to keep an eye on him. I’ll try to use the cloak whenever I get a chance.”

“Agreed,” said Wormtail. “And let’s say that we’ll meet at Dr. Johnson’s should anything go awry?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea, Wormy.”

“Don’t call me that,” said Wormtail. “It gives me the shivers.”

“Maybe don’t tell Moony. He’s still recovering.” said the one with the graceful hair.

“So careful with him now aren’t you,” said Wormtail. Dorcas wished they weren’t shrouded in shadow and lit only from behind, so that she could know who was talking.

“It’s going to take him a while. You did a really messed up thing, sending Snivellous down after him,” said the tall one.

Dorcas felt Lily shift ever so slightly next to her.

“I know, I know,” said the one with the graceful hair, bitterly. “You don’t have to lecture me for the hundredth time about this. So yes, Wormtail, I’m being  _ careful  _ with him. Remind me again why he deserves so much better, will you.”

He turned and started up a flight of stairs, and the other two followed. Dorcas pulled away from the tapestry.

“Should we follow them,” said Alfred.

“They’ve gone,” said Lily quietly. She waved her wand at her shoes to remove the silencing jinx, and began to walk down the corridor again. Dorcas and Alfred exchanged looks before jogging to catch up to her.

“What’s  _ snivellous _ ? Is that a spell?” Alfred asked, bouncing on his heels. He pulled his wand out, pointed it at a suit of armor, and said, “ _ Snivellous _ !” making the suit of armor sneeze.

Lily rounded on him. “Don’t do that,” she said, her green eyes blazing.

Alfred looked at Lily with wide eyes before pocketing his wand and exchanging another look with Dorcas.

“I wonder what Mary is up to,” he said quietly. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

Dorcas was distracted by thoughts of the conversation they’d just overheard. There were others trying to find out what Dumbledore was up to. But who were the three wizards behind the tapestry? The word  _ snivellous _ sounded familiar to Dorcas, like the name of someone she used to know. Where had she heard it before? Where and after whom had  _ snivellous _ been sent? Dorcas and Alfred, in studying the now quiet and pale Lily Evans, decided that it was not the right time to ask her how much she’d understood of the exchange they’d just witnessed.

* * *

The next evening after classes, Dorcas and Lily arrived at Slughorn’s receiving chambers to find rich hors d’oeuvres, finger sandwiches, coffee urns and silver samovars of tea spread over a long table, covered in a green cloth, at the back of the room, which was brightly lit by candelabra and brass gas lamps. The sofas and armchairs, upholstered in soft moss green, were pushed to the walls, which were lit by the amber sunset light filtering through the lime green curtains. They were approached immediately by Slughorn, who was carrying two cups of tea.

“Welcome, ladies, good to have you. Please take a sandwich, enjoy, mingle!” he said, handing a cup to Lily, and one to Dorcas. He gently began to guide the two witches across the room. “Miss Evans, have you spent much time with Mr. Pye, also an aspiring healer? You’ll have much to talk about, and Miss Shacklebolt!” said Slughorn, reaching out to Dorcas, eager not to leave her behind. “Have you come across the work of Anselm Anchorsmith, the auror academy founder? Then you and Emmeline Vance will have much to discuss!”

Slughorn pushed Dorcas in the direction of a brown-haired girl, and then led Lily to where Augustus Pye, a fellow Ravenclaw sixth year, was standing by the window, with a sandwich on a plate, his tea cup and saucer on a small end-table beside him. He smiled and held out his hand.

“Pye, Augustus,” he said, taking Lily’s hand and shaking it a little too hard, causing the tea in her cup to go sloshing. “We have many classes, together, Charms, Potions, Transfiguration…”

“Yes, I know,” said Lily quickly, taking back her hand and steadying her cup. She looked after a departing Slughorn and said loudly, “I do love what you’ve done with your chambers, Professor!”

Slughorn half-turned and shrugged one shoulder, saying, “Yes, I thought the lime green was rather inspired, don’t you, if I don’t say so myself, although I’d really like to have Merrythought’s old office— much roomier…” His sentence dropped off as he shuffled over to the students who had just arrived in his chambers— Ligeia Greengrass and Lysistrata Selwyn.

“So does that mean you will train to be a healer after you graduate?” Pye asked eagerly, trying to regain the attention that Lily had never given, nor would she ever be likely to. 

“I guess,” said Lily, shrugging and looking listlessly about the room. Pye shifted his weight from one hip to another, as though he were settling in. Lily felt a sense of foreboding.

“I was just reading about bone-setting spells. Pollingtonius had some very interesting remarks in the _ London Manual of Magical Therapeutics _ . Apparently, in studies that compare  _ Ferula _ to  _ Episkey _ , patients treated with  _ Ferula _ saw a greater increase in…”

Lily nodded and smiled, and let her eyes glaze over. She wished she was in the library, or her dormitory, or simply just to be standing anywhere besides where she was, as she gazed in the direction of Dorcas, who was smiling sheepishly and looking at her shoes in the company of a beautiful girl with short dark hair and brown eyes.

* * *

 

“So you want to be an auror,” said Emmeline Vance.

Dorcas swallowed hard. She was talking to the girl from the library. All short brown fringe in her dark eyes rimmed with long black lashes. Dorcas was finding it difficult to breathe. She talked to her shoes.

“Yes, like my big brother.”

Merlin, she sounded like a toddler. 

“I just mean, the Shacklebolts are…” Dorcas shut her eyes. Anything to resist saying something stupid in front of this beautiful person, whose eyes made Dorcas feel like she was dying and being born at the same time. Merlin, she was a drama queen. Emmeline chuckled.

“What year are you in?”

“6th year,” said Dorcas to her shoes.

“What house?”

“S— Slytherin,” Dorcas stammered. She finally looked up into Emmeline’s face, knowing she’d see a look of disgust upon it.

But Emmeline was smiling.

“I’m in Ravenclaw,” she said, a light smile playing on her lips. Dorcas blinked.

“I did a short internship in the auror office this summer,” Emmeline continued, taking a large bite of a little sandwich. “It was a lot of fun. Of course, they don’t let you do much, being a student and all that, but you do harmless paperwork, research and you get to visit the training courses,” she finished, swallowing and smiling broadly at Dorcas.

“You should apply. I can help you if you want,” she added. Dorcas nodded mutely.

“Well, I’m going to get another cup of tea. See you later. You know where to find me,” said Emmeline, and she turned to walk toward the refreshments, but not before shooting Dorcas another little smile.

Dorcas stood rooted to the spot, trying to catch her breath. She tugged at her short cuffs and looked around the room.

There was Lily studying her tea cup closely while another Ravenclaw talked seemingly without stopping to take a breath. Wilfred Chang stood chatting amiably with Alice Macmillan, Pandora Fawley seemed to be telling Amos Diggory a long-winded story, gesticulating with abandon, while Amos Diggory stood with crossed arms, gazing over her shoulder. Lysistrata Selwyn stood with Ligeia Greengrass and Amin Shafiq, the three of them looking around in a bored fashion. Amin broke away from the group and walked toward Dorcas.

“How are you, cousin,” said Amin as he approached. Dorcas shrugged. She hoped he hadn’t seen the embarrassing one-sided exchange she’d just had with Emmeline.

“Aren’t you afraid to be seen with me?” she sighed. Amin, shook his head good-naturedly.

“You know me,” he said. “I’m a social butterfly. I can go anywhere, talk with anyone. I can even take Muggle Studies without it damaging my reputation.”

“Yeah, you’re the only other Slytherin in the N.E.W.T. class right now besides me,” Dorcas agreed.

“A course full of information that will come in handy when I go into government,” said Amin somewhat smugly. Though Dorcas thought he put a lot of it on.

“How do you get away with it?” said Dorcas in disbelief. Amin shrugged.

“I play the Slytherin game,” he said mysteriously, opening his arms wide and beginning to walk backwards in the direction of his other housemates. He raised one arm in a salute.

“See ya, cuz,” he said. Dorcas crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at him in mock irritation and turned around with the vague thought of approaching Lily in order to rescue her from what was clearly an undesirable situation. That was when she crashed into someone. 

The boy with the golden eyes. 

Dorcas drew her arms to her sides and looked up into his face. Up close his eyelashes were even longer and fuller, more like a woman’s than a man’s. His face was thin and delicately structured and his lips were very pink.

“Are you alright,” he said, batting his eyelashes excessively at her. Or at least, it seemed like he was batting his eyelashes. If only he would stop, it was really very distracting. Dorcas nodded and shrugged. The young man looked around the room, glancing after Amin’s retreating back before looking at Dorcas again.

“Are you a friend of Amin’s,” he said. Dorcas shook her head and said in a low voice, “No, he’s my cousin.”

“I see him often in the Head Room. We’re both prefects.”

“Uh-huh,” Dorcas murmured, looking around hesitantly. She wished fervently that everyone but Lily would leave her alone.

“I noticed you don’t speak to many of the people in your house.” Now he was looking at her with a half-smile. 

Dorcas forced a small smile in return before mumbling, “Yeah well, I should… er, you know. Go hummel-wumpfle.” Her voice trailed off. 

“I’m sorry— Did I say something?” he asked, his smile turning into a confused grimace.

“Yes?” she answered, not paying attention to the meaning of his question. Then she turned sharply and, before heading out the door, she sidled up to Lily’s shoulder and in a loud voice, said, “I am feeling you know, throw-uppy?” Pye suddenly brightened and said, “ I know just the treatment for it!” but before he could expound, Dorcas had whisked Lily out of Slughorn’s chamber and into the growing dimness of the fourth floor corridor at early evening.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Dorcas walked with  Lily back toward the Great Hall, where students were gathering for dinner.

“I am a sucker for eyelashes,” mumbled Dorcas.

“What,” laughed Lily. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” said Dorcas quickly.

“Pye talked me  _ to death _ about Healing. Good thing I’m on the Healer track, I need one after talking to  _ him _ .”

The two girls laughed as they continued on their way towards the Great Hall. 

“And he asked me out. He wants to have butterbeers in The Three Broomsticks on the next Hogsmeade trip.”

“Merlin,” sighed Dorcas sympathetically.

“I noticed you talking to not one, but  _ two  _ Slytherins,” Lily remarked. Dorcas shrugged.

“One’s my cousin, the other is my stalker.”

“Has he been following you?” said Lily with an affronted gasp. Dorcas shrugged again.

“He’s been staring at me a lot,” she replied.

Lily shook her head. “I still can’t believe you’re in Slytherin.”

“Yeah, guess I’m good at keeping secrets, right?” Dorcas snapped. Lily looked back at her in surprise, but decided not to say anything more. 

In the Great Hall, they joined Alfred and Mary at Gryffindor table.

“Where were you, Mary,” said Lily as she sat down. Mary shrugged, and took a sip of her pumpkin juice before answering.

“Music room,” she said finally.

“What do you do in there,” said Alfred as he heaped sauerkraut on his plate while Dorcas looked on with disgust.

“Just tinker,” said Mary mildly. “Do we have much Herbodge and Defense work, Dorcas?”

“A bit yeah,” said Dorcas, whose voice was muffled as she was covering her nose against the odor of Alfred’s sauerkraut, which he was eating alongside a length of wurst. “I’ll give it to you later.”

Dorcas reached out and pushed Alfred’s plate further along the table. Alfred swiped at her hand.

“The weather was nice for Care of Magical Creatures, so I made it to that,” said Mary with another shrug. “Sometimes lessons just make me so tired.”

“Academic probation is going to make you tired too,” said Lily through a mouthful of roast beef.

Mary’s face paled a little at the thought. She fell silent as she munched on a head of broccoli.

* * *

 

The next morning, owls swept over the breakfasting students as usual to deliver mail. Dorcas, sitting at Gryffindor table, looked up, as she had every morning that week. This morning, the school owl that Dorcas had sent to her brother had finally returned, dropping a neatly folded note next to her cereal.

Dorcas opened it, and made a humming noise as she read it over quickly.

“ _ Dear Dorckles, _

_ Yes, all’s well in London-town, work is difficult as usual, though you know full well I can’t tell you much. Lot of it is top-secret. I’ve heard about this paper. It’s a rather tiresome rag that’s making things difficult for us. As I’m sure you’ve come to realize, much of its content is speculative. As for what I’m doing about it, well, that is none of your business at all. If Dumbledore had nothing to say to you about it, I certainly don’t, seeing as how he is your headmaster, and I am your brother, and the only time I’ve spoken to the man was when he stopped me running in the corridor in third year to ask what brand bubblegum I was chewing.  _

_ On a completely unrelated note, please respond with the date of the next Hogsmeade visit. For no reason whatsoever.  _

_ Your frightfully uninteresting brother, _

_ Kingsley _ ”

Lily leaned over, saying “What is it?” Dorcas handed the letter to Lily, who scanned it quickly.

“His humor is self-deprecative, isn’t it,” said Lily as she came to the end of the letter. “And it seems he’s about as able to tell us anything as Dumbledore.”

“Don’t you see?” said Dorcas. “The last line. ‘ _ Send word of the date of the next Hogsmeade trip _ .’ He does have something to tell us. Something  _ sensitive _ that can only be told in person.” This was it. A reckoning. She felt very ready. Then Lily smirked at Dorcas across the table.

“Dear  _ Dorckles _ ?” she cooed. Dorcas held her head high despite the deep blush creeping up her neck.

“Shut up.”

  
  
  
  
  



	6. The Rally

 

The weeks of September passed in golden sunshine, clear blue skies and crisp evenings. The first day of October blew in, throwing doors and windows wide to bang against the jambs, flipping pages in books and sending parchment flying. Still blue, still crisp, still golden, but windy and cool.

The first Hogsmeade visit of the year was set for the second day of October. Students third year and up wrapped themselves in sweaters and scarves, dressed in their warmer day-robes, tugged on wool caps and marched down from their towers or up from their basements and dungeons post-breakfast, and out past the professors standing sentinel at the gates.

Lily and Dorcas walked ahead of Mary and Alfred on the path down to Hogsmeade village. Their cheeks brightened at the bite of the autumn chill. It was hard to keep the grins off their faces. Behind Lily and Dorcas, Alfred and Mary walked close together, their arms brushing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dorcas caught a flash of the red block-type of the _Icenian Inquirer_ sticking out of the pocket of one of the many colorful day-robes worn by the dozens of students on every side. She looked ahead again quickly, turned to smile at something Lily said, raised her face to the sun, determined to enjoy their respite from September’s constant onslaught of work, the social pressure of being ignored by her entire house, and the background worry of the conflict happening beyond the walls of the school.

Up ahead she could see James and Peter walking together, followed closely by Remus and Sirius. Nearby, she could see Frank and Alice, walking hand-in-hand and laughing. Determined to impress, Dorcas smiled at Emmeline as she passed, walking with Marlene. When Emmeline smiled back, Dorcas fought to catch her breath, and dropped her gaze, but her smile stayed.

And in her hand she clutched a note she’d been fingering in her pocket for the last two weeks.

_Dorckles,_

_Dr. Johnson’s. 10:30._

_K.S._

She and Lily would be meeting her brother at Dr. Johnson’s, and were soon to find out the story behind the _Icenian Inquirer_ , and the answer to the question of what was to be done.

Lily nudged Dorcas and pointed to a niffler who was perched on the country wall to the side of the road, nibbling on a gold ring, and though Dorcas was still fingering the note in her pocket, she took joy in the sight of the niffler perched on the wall, now stuffing the ring into his pouch and now, disappearing behind the wall again. And beyond the wall the open moors. And beyond the moors the mountains and lakes of the Scottish highlands. The dirt under their feet was muddy and wet from the morning dew. The air smelled piney, and rain-fresh, and she and her friends were enjoying their freedom this day.

* * *

Dorcas and Lily walked along Hogsmeade’s high street.

“I’ve never been to Dr. Johnson’s before. Have you,” said Lily. Dorcas shook her head. They looked about, from one side of the street to the other. It was congested with students and clogged with the colors of their casual day-robes or muggle clothing. Dorcas turned around, saying, “Alfred have you ever been to—”

But Alfred and Mary had disappeared. Dorcas and Lily exchanged sheepish looks and continued on their way up the high street.

“Look!” Lily pointed her finger at a sign up ahead, which featured a red and white striped pole and a picture of a stamp.

As they walked closer, the sign hanging over the street now teeming with students, read:

_Dr. Johnson’s Certified and Licensed Barber, Cosmetologist, and Notary Public._

“Notary Public?” Lily questioned. Dorcas pushed past her and into the shop. It was dingy but well-lit, with red-and-white tiles and mirrors on every side. The room was abuzz with talk and the snipping of scissors, which clipped of their own accord. Razors flashed through the air, which was warm and humid with water that burst from spray bottles that hovered near the barbers, who directed their instruments with their wands. Rocksteady music crackled and warbled out of an old gramophone. Men in varying states of hairiness sat in chairs against the wall or in chairs being tended to by barbers. One barber, with a short, neatly cropped afro, sideburns and a mustache, was in the middle of telling a story to another barber on the other side of the shop, even as he simultaneously flipped and flicked a razor around the hairline of young man in his chair.

“He said he want it real short, so I said to him, when I’m done wid’ you, you’ll look sharp as a rude boy!”

Several men in the shop chuckled, but none laughed as hard as the one standing nearest to Dorcas. His eyes crinkled and his face creased. His wiry black beard wobbled in time to his laughter, which made a sound like a razor. Hick-hick-hick.

“Mr. Jordan’s too soft to be a rude boy,” said the man with the beard in amused response. He turned, smiling to Dorcas and Lily. Dorcas smiled back at the bearded barber.

“Be right with you,” he said. Dorcas led Lily over to two seats against the wall, where a man with dreadlocks looked the two of them over before returning to his observation of the conversation.

Lily looked around curiously. Dorcas was looking around, too, trying to spot her brother among the men in the shop, but he didn’t seem to have arrived yet. A grandfather clock against the wall read 10:35. Where was he?

“What’s a rude boy,” asked Lily, but at that moment, a tall man walked in wearing a trilby hat, a tie, long black robes and narrow trousers. Dorcas felt a smile rise to her lips, and she struggled to look cool as she stood up to make her way toward her brother.

The barber with the beard turned away from his customer, though the razor did not stop shaping his hairline, to embrace Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“The King has arrived,” he said. “Come for a trim, Kingsley?” Kingsley smiled brilliantly, his eyes twinkling. He took off his hat and hung it on the hat rack, saying, “No, Doc, I’ve come to see my sister.” He inclined his head towards Dorcas. The bearded barber rounded on them and opened his arms.

“I didn’t know she was your sister! Welcome, love. What’s your name?”

“It’s Dorcas,” she said, as her brother embraced her. Dorcas noted that the anticipation of the morning had dissipated in the presence of Kingsley as the bearded barber stuck out his hand to shake hers.

“Dr. Carlyle Johnson, though the guys just call me Doc.”

Just then a woman descended the back staircase and made her way toward Dr. Johnson.

“And this is my wife, Antonia,” he said, holding his arm out toward her, and smiling warmly. Antonia kissed her husband on the cheek and held her hand out to shake Dorcas’s, before turning to her husband to say, “I’m going out for a pound of beef for the butcher, don’t be late with dinner like you were last week, alright Car?”

Several men sitting in barber’s chairs chortled, but Carlyle took it in stride. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said in a gentle voice. Antonia smiled and, inclining her head toward Kingsley and Dorcas, and left the shop.

Kinglsey clapped an arm on Dr. Johnson’s shoulder.

“Carlyle, would you mind terribly if we used your back room for a tick?”

“Not at all, Kingsley,” said Dr. Johnson, clapping a hand on Kingsley’s shoulder, in a show of returned affection. As Dr. Johnson returned to the head of the customer whose hairline was now frightfully straight, he said, “And when you come out again, let me have a go at you. Your edges are starting to look messy.” Dorcas followed Kingsley to the back of the shop, where Lily joined them both.

Closing the door to the back room, the noise of the conversation, the razors, and the rocksteady dimmed to a muffled hum. The back room was windowless, tiled, and painted a pleasing shade of greenish blue. A picture of a golden lion adorned the back wall.

Kinglsey, Dorcas and Lily pulled together three chairs that stood against the back wall. Kingsley did a double take when he noticed Lily.

“What’s your name,” he said. Lily gave her name and Kingsley nodded, smiled and introduced himself. Then he turned to regard his sister, all trace of smile vanished.

“Did you get an earring,” said Dorcas, twisting in her chair to look around at his left ear. Kingsley covered his ear and still did not smile.

“I don’t have much time,” said Kingsley. “I have to be back in the office and finish a pile of paper work a kilometer high, or Moody will have my hide. There isn’t much I’m allowed to tell you, Dorcas. Only that the _Icenian Inquirer_ presents a much bigger threat than anyone makes it out to be. There is in fact, a group that is dedicated to… shall we say… going up against death eater activity. It’s Dumbledore’s project, and in order for you to stay safe, you mustn’t know too much. But know this: Dumbledore’s taking care of it. He’s got… people everywhere… keeping an eye on things, do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, but Kingsley, _we_ want to be doing something, too!” said Dorcas quickly, glad that Kinsgley was willing to dive right into the topic and equally frustrated by his refusal to say anything important.

“Unfortunately, you’re not of age—” Kingsley began.

“Lily will be of age in three months,” Dorcas shot back. “And I’ll be of age soon after that!”

“—and as your brother, Dorcas, I forbid you to stick your nose in this any further.”

So he was invoking Sacred Older Brother Authority. Dorcas felt betrayed.

“Who died and made you dad,” Dorcas retorted, sounding like the kindergartener she knew she was acting like. Kingsley rolled his eyes. “Just tell me something,” Dorcas continued. “It’s going round at my school, some really rotten apples are running around with it. It might be helpful to someone like— someone like Lily! —to know something about it. She’s a prefect, she needs to know if it’s dangerous or not, for discipline purposes.”

Lily fixed Dorcas with a wide-eyed stare that seemed to say, “Don’t you bring me into this.”

Kingsley sighed.

“You already know the _Inquirer_ is bad news. It’s full of lies meant to empower pureblood beliefs against muggleborns. Death-eaters might be behind it, for all you know. And that’s why you should stay away from it, in every possible way. Trust that Dumbledore is taking care of it. Confiscate it, if you must,” he added dismissively.

“What is he doing?” said Dorcas.

“I can’t tell you,” said Kingsley.

“Do you know him personally?” Dorcas pressed

“I can’t tell you,” Kingsley repeated.

“Oh, you so know him personally,” chortled Dorcas. Lily nudged Dorcas in the arm.

“I better go,” said Kingsley, getting up and brushing off his robes. He was very tall, over six feet. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“Define stupid,” Dorcas grumbled, pushing her own long legs out in front of her.

“You’re a brat,” said Kingsley.

“You love me,” Dorcas replied. This earned an exasperated look from her brother before he turned to walk out.

“Mum is going to have your head for that earring,” Dorcas shouted after her brother as he walked out the back room door and through the shop.

Dorcas turned to Lily and said, “We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“Well,” said Lily. “It’s like Kingsley said. Dumbledore’s got people everywhere, _keeping an eye on things_. Let’s start there.”

“Keep an eye on things?” asked Dorcas. “Like, spy?”

“Well, we can, you know, look for clues before we go any further,” said Lily, standing up and straightening her sweater. “Intelligence and Reconnaissance. What do you say?”

“I’m in,” said Dorcas. “Where do we start?”

The pair walked back through the barber shop, waving goodbye to Doc, and left, following the high street back down to the Three Broomsticks.

In the tavern, which was crowded with students and teachers, Dorcas and Lily pulled up chairs to join Mary and Alfred at a booth.

Mary and Alfred looked about awkwardly as Lily and Dorcas sat down.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we,” said Dorcas as Lily put down her jacket and strode up to the bar to order two butterbeers.

“We _were_ ,” Alfred mumbled.

“How is your brother?” Mary asked.

“He’s alright,” said Dorcas, waving her hand dismissively. “Very busy, his boss is always on his case about paperwork and fieldwork and things.” Dorcas gazed around at the patrons unseeingly.

“Well, we were just talking, me and Mary. Alone. Together. Before you got here, I mean,” said Alfred pointedly.

“Oh, I forgot, where are my manners?” said Dorcas suddenly, smacking her hand to her temple. “Do you mind if Lily and I sit here?”

“Yes,” Alfred answered. Mary responded at the same time, “No.”

“Thanks, friends,” said Dorcas as Lily returned with two glasses of butterbeer, setting them carefully on the table. Dorcas took a glup of her butterbeer

“We didn’t learn anything about the _Inquirer_ —,” Lily began, sipping at her glass.

“But we have a plan—,” Dorcas finished, dark eyes blazing.

“What’s your plan?” Mary asked as Alfred rolled his eyes.

“You’re going to get into trouble,” he said. Dorcas acted like she hadn’t heard him. Lily sipped from her glass again.

“Well, we haven’t come up with an actual plan yet, but—” she started, raising her glass to her lips.

“You can’t say you have a plan when you don’t have a plan,” Alfred cut in.

“— _But_ ,” she continued, glaring at her friend. “But we’re going to take a leaf out of the auror handbook. Use a little Intelligence and Reconnaissance.”

“You haven’t read the auror handbook,” said Mary confusedly.

“You know what I mean,” Dorcas snapped. She’d been hoping for a little more support from her friends. Lily checked her watch.

“It’s noon,” she said gloomily. “I have to go meet Pye.”

“Why are you meeting Pye?” asked Mary. Lily made a face.

“He asked me on a date.”

“You’re clearly not happy about it. Why did you agree to go out with Pye?” Mary continued.

“I didn’t want to be mean,” Lily finished weakly. She looked over at the tavern door.

“He’s here,” she said in a disappointed voice. She began to gather her things and picked up her glass.

“ ‘Bye,” she said as she got up to walk over to the door. Dorcas gave her a little wave.

“Speaking of dates,” said Alfred pointedly.

“Don’t you know what I am, Thomas?” said Dorcas. Alfred gave her a flat, unamused look.

“I’m your chaperone,” she said, looking at her friends and waggling her eyebrows. Alfred kicked her under the table. “Ouch!” Dorcas exclaimed, sloshing her drink.

Dorcas looked around again, and spotted her cousin heading for the door. She said a quick “see you later, lovebirds,” to her friends, took another gulp of her butterbeer, slamming her drink down on the table, and followed him out the door.

“Amin! Wait up,” Dorcas called as she left the tavern. Amin paused, his dark brown hair shining in the sun, the only still figure among the churning crowds in the high street. He turned and smiled at Dorcas, who caught up to him.

“How’s Reza? And little Musa? You just came back from visiting them, isn’t that so?” Dorcas huffed as they trudged up the steep street.

“That’s right,” he said. “They’re fine, Eid was nice as always. Musa’s learning to talk, and he’s very proud of his teeth.”

Dorcas laughed and said, “Where are you off to?” He jerked his head in the direction of the Post office.

“Wanted to check something,” he said. “You coming?”

Dorcas shrugged and continued walking with her cousin up the street. The sun was now high in the sky, and the wind from earlier had died down, and she enjoyed the weather. She’d spent the month of September cooped up in the library, and here was a chance to enjoy the beautiful day, among trees and woodland animals, grass, rocks and streams.

“Do you want to go for a walk, away from the crowds,” she said excitedly. Amin answered distractedly.

“Not really,” he said. They’d reached the Post Office, and Amin went in, saying, “Mind waiting here?”

“Not at all,” said Dorcas brightly. She was glad to spend time with her cousin, and more than enthusiastic to stand in the sun and warm her bones, as though she could absorb and store up all the warmth for the coming winter.

Amin came out a few minutes later, stuffing an enormous box into a bookbag that looked too small.

“That’s never going to fit,” said Dorcas. But Amin shook his bookbag up and down and the box, which should never have fit, slid in.

“Ever heard of an Undetectable Extension Charm?”

“Not exactly legal,” said Dorcas.

“That’s why you’re not going to tell, are you, cuz?” Amin smiled jauntily up at his cousin before standing up and adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “What do you want to do,” he said.

“Go for a walk in the woods,” said Dorcas quickly.

“Why don’t we pop down to Zonko’s,” said Amin, as if he hadn’t heard what she’d said. They made their way down the street again. As they did, Dorcas noticed that the crowds seemed to have thickened.

“Are there more people, not just students, in the village today?” Dorcas wondered aloud. Amin shrugged. They stopped in front of Zonko’s. It was so full of people, that a wizard stood outside, wearing red-orange robes emblazoned with a golden “Z,” letting people in six at a time, and only when other people exited.

“Well, let’s do something else then,” said Amin, and they continued up the street, past Dervish and Banges, Gladrags and a very posh restaurant called Le Petit Centaure. Through the large windows they could see gilt-framed mirrors, waiters balancing platters on the points of their wands, and wearing white aprons that touched the floor.

Suddenly, a sound like a shot had Dorcas turning around. The crowds seemed to have coalesced around a single point. A wizard with a brown beard and mustache, pointed black hat, and dark brown robes, opened his arms wide and began to speak with a magically amplified voice. Dorcas moved closer to find out what was happening. Amin seemed to follow behind her reluctantly.

“...We magical folks, with magical blood in our veins, have been magical since our ancestors lived among the British tribes! We must have pride in our long magical lineage!”

Nearing the crowd, Dorcas could see some witches and wizards holding signs. Dorcas moved closer.

“But our ancient, most magical blood is under threat! It is being diluted! watered down!”

Some signs said, “Not in our fireplace!” and “Preserve Blood Purity.” These were not students. In fact, Dorcas could not see students anywhere in the high street.

“The _Icenian Inquirer_ only tells you the truth!” cried the bearded wizard in the brown robes. “Not like that muggle-loving rag that is the Daily Prophet!”

A cheer went up from the crowd. Dorcas looked around at them, her stomach churning. She glanced toward the Three Broomsticks, thinking of Alfred, Mary and Lily. Were they safe?

“And we will not let you down! Hogsmeade is the only all-wizarding village in the United Kingdom! Let’s make it the first of many!”

Another cheer went up from the crowd. The witches and wizards were looking up at this brown-robed wizard, hard glee making their faces shine. Who were they, where had they come from? In the periphery of her vision, Dorcas could sense that a few stray students were running.

“Magic for Witches and Wizards only! Witches, marry only Pureblood Wizards! Wizards, have children only by pure witches! And remember, the _Inquirer’_ s tagline is our motto, it’s your battle cry! It is your prayer every night!”

Someone grabbed Dorcas by the arm. Looking up, she saw Potter’s face, brown, gleaming, and worried.

“Pure is Priority!”

The crowd chanted the phrase. Potter bent forward to speak into Dorcas’s ear. _Get your friends. Now._

“Pure is Priority!”

Dorcas looked back at Amin. He was standing a few yards away, his face expressionless, watching the demonstration. Potter spoke again. _We’re meeting at Doc’s in five. Go_.

“Pure is Priority!”

Amin looked back at Dorcas. His face was unreadable. Dorcas knew this was not a moment to hesitate. Potter had already melted into the crowd. Dorcas turned away and struggled past the witches and wizards, back to the Three Broomsticks.

* * *

 

“It will be so grand to land in the healer training program already knowing half the course,” said Pye, shrugging his shoulders in a self-satisfied way.

“I’m just fascinated by the similarity between Suturing Spells and actual Knitting Spells. _Huic connexum filo subtegminis hac carne mea._ The incantation describes the movement of the wand in both cases, and the wand movement mimics in both cases a needle moving up and down the breach…”

Lily had long since stopped listening to Pye. The magically magnified voice had penetrated the walls of the tavern.

“Pure is Priority!” The crowd chanted.

“What’s happening,” said Pye in a disinterested way. He seemed disappointed to have lost Lily’s attention. She was surprised he’d even noticed that she’d stopped listening.

Lily thought she was going to throw up. She stood up and stumbled away from the table, not paying attention to where she was going, catching snippets of conversation.

“—You have to admit, he’s got a point—”

“—Yeah, I don’t even bother to read the Daily Prophet anymore—”

“Lily, where are you going,” Pye called when Peter Pettigrew appeared out of nowhere and took hold of Lily’s arm.

“Come,” he said, directing her out of the tavern’s back door.

* * *

 

Dorcas ran frantically from one shop to the next, looking for Mary and Alfred. Every witch or wizard that she came across who she didn’t recognize as either a student or a teacher was suspect in her eyes.

She finally spotted her friends coming out of Madame Puddifoot’s.

“We heard the amplified voice,” said Mary, trembling and holding onto Alfred’s hand.

“Potter told me we’re meeting at Doc’s,” Dorcas responded quietly. “Come on,” she grabbed ahold of her friend’s other hand and hurried up the high street.

“Do you know if Lily is okay,” Mary hissed as they dashed up the hill.

Dorcas didn’t answer. She didn’t have an answer.

They quickly reached the sign with the stamp and red and white striped pole, and they hurried inside.

“And the Ministry don’t do nothing!” the bearded wizard barber was saying angrily across the shop at Doc, while tending to another customer. There were now far fewer customers sitting along the walls. A razor hung in mid-air as Doc paused shaving a customer and looked around at his newcomers; he understood immediately and pointed toward the back room.

“They hired a new Head of Department for Magical Law Enforcement, Barty Crouch,” said Doc, continuing the conversation, and his barbering. Dorcas, Mary and Alfred hurried through the shop, wrenched open the back door and shut it behind them.

Pettigrew was standing with Lily, who rushed forward and threw her arms around Dorcas, then Mary and Alfred. Potter stood with Saorise O’Malley and Sam de Poest, Black with Benjy Fenwick and a fourth year called Dirk Cresswell. Lupin stood with Wilfred Chang, and Aphra Arden. Dorcas was taken aback to see the narrow-shouldered, golden-haired, golden-eyed Slytherin boy standing with a third year Hufflepuff called Hannigan.

Potter addressed the students present. The tension in the air had everyone quiet, listening.

“Okay,” he said. “There’s a pureblood rally out there right now. We have to get you all out of Hogsmeade undetected. Do you trust us?”

The students looked around at Potter, Pettigrew, Black and Lupin. The seriousness in their demeanors seemed to permeate the air. Everyone looked around uneasily, but it was infinitely safer in the backroom of the barbershop than anywhere else in the village. Lupin gazed into each muggle-born face with a calm expression.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ve got a way to get you out.”

Lupin exchanged a look with Potter, who nodded and made toward the picture of the lion. He reached up and whispered into the lion’s ear. The lion gave a small growl and swung open to reveal a dark hole. Potter lit his wand, clambered up into the hole, looked back at the group of witches, and wizards and beckoned to them. They began to follow him one by one, climbing into the hole and disappearing into the blackness.

* * *

They walked for what seemed like an hour, but it could not have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes. By the light of their wands, Dorcas could see that they were walking along a low-ceilinged dirt tunnel, with Potter in the lead and Black bringing up the rear.

The youngest student, Hannigan, was crying softly.

“We’re almost there,” said Lupin soothingly.

“What’s your name, dear,” said Lily, who was walking behind her.

“Bridey,” sniffed the third year.

“Well, Bridey, what are you looking forward to eating at dinner?”

“Ch- chicken with oranges,” Bridey stuttered through tears. Dorcas smiled.

“Oh I love chicken with oranges,” said Dorcas. “And I hope there’s liver.”

“Oh I do love me some pickled pig’s eyes,” said Black, to the vocal disgust and amused laughter of his companions. Even Bridey couldn’t help smiling through her tears.

“We can make a special request to the elves in the kitchens when we’re out of here, okay, Bridey?” called Potter from the front. Bridey received an encouraging pat on the shoulders from her fellow fugitives and her sniffling subsided.

Soon the tunnel steepened and the climb became somewhat arduous. Finally the group had to stop as Potter fumbled with something at the front. “All clear,” he said, and he shifted something heavy, shedding bright light down the passage.

The group began to climb out one by one into a passage lit by the failing light of the afternoon.

Dorcas could see now that they’d emerged from behind a mirror on the fourth floor. The last student climbed out and Black pushed the mirror back in place and turned to the group. Potter was regarding a piece of parchment as he spoke to the group.

“Filch is in his office, and many of the faculty and students are still down in the village. Peeves is bouncing around in the music room and Dumbledore is away from the castle.”

“We suggest you get back to your common rooms. Go in groups if possible,” said Lupin.

The four boys started back to Gryffindor tower, followed by their fellow gryffindors.

“I better look at the music room, and make sure Peeves hasn’t utterly destroyed it,” said Mary. Alfred looked at her from under his eyelashes.

“Do you want company?” he asked quietly. Lily and Dorcas looked all around and whistled.

“No,” said Mary. “I need a little time,” she said very quietly, so quietly, Dorcas almost didn’t hear her.

Mary walked away in the direction of the music room. Alfred heaved a sigh. “I’m going to go back to Hufflepuff Basement, are you coming, Dorcas?” Dorcas nodded, and looked at Lily.

“Are you going to be alright,” she asked. Lily nodded and smiled, but her eyes were far away.

“Don’t stay alone, okay,” said Dorcas, grasping Lily’s hand. Lily looked down at their hands clasped together and seemed as though she were trying not to cry.

“I’ll see you at dinner. We’ll talk strategy.” Dorcas smiled at her friend, let go of her hand, and began to walk down the corridor with her Hufflepuff friend. Lily turned and followed Potter and her fellow Gryffindors.

* * *

Lily watched Potter and his friends, and all the students they’d rescued as they neared the portrait of the Fat Lady. Lily knew that her chance was coming, that it may be her only one for a while. Maybe it was the traces of adrenaline in her blood from earlier, or maybe the fear of being caught and murdered by death-eaters had turned her slightly mad, but she decided to do it.

“Potter,” she called out. He stopped, turned around to look at her, half a corridor away. The fugitive students filed one by one through the portrait hole, and only Black stopped before climbing in. He looked at Potter, who looked at him. They seemed to have a  wordless conversation, which ended when Potter shook his head. Black turned and went in, leaving Potter and Lily in the corridor.

“Why did you do it?” Lily asked.

Potter must have noted the confrontational edge in her voice— she could certainly feel it, and hear it— but he remained where he was.

Potter avoided Lily’s eyes and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his day-robes. Finally he said, “Thanks.”

Lily snorted in disbelief, then cleared her throat. He was being _somewhat_ civil, so why shouldn’t she? “You’re welcome, of course, but what are you thanking me for,” she said.

“For keeping me out of trouble in Herbology. I saw what you did to Arden.”

Lily felt her cheeks reddening, and was grateful for the dimness of the corridor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lily evasively.

Now it was James’s turn to snort in disbelief, but it didn’t sound mean-spirited to Lily. Here, she thought, she could finally get to the bottom of the change she’d noticed in him.

“Why are you… that is, what are you— I mean, you’re so—”

 _Oh heavens, I am butchering this_ , thought Lily. James turned his whole body toward Lily, as though to indicate that he was listening closely, though he kept the distance between them.

“I should be thanking you.” _I’ve started all wrong_ , thought Lily. But she ploughed on. “For getting me out, for getting all my friends out of Hogsmeade. And you’ve been so out-of-character lately, I mean — why?” The words tumbled out of Lily’s mouth. James smiled sheepishly.

“I’m just trying to do what’s right,” he said, heaving a sigh. He turned then, speaking the password to Gryffindor tower, and went inside, leaving Lily in the corridor.

She considered her position. She was somewhere she never would have imagined in fifth year, having done a favor for Potter, and having been helped to safety by him and his friends. He was starting to become a mystery, one which she would have to work very hard to resist trying to solve.

* * *

Later that evening, at dinner, Dorcas and Lily ate in silence at the Gryffindor table with Alfred. Mary was nowhere to be seen. The silence was heavy, and Dorcas longed to break it. It seemed strange to speak after the events of the day. But Dorcas gave it a try.

“How was your date?” Dorcas asked Lily, who shrugged.

“What did you and Pye talk about?” Dorcas pressed. Lily shrugged again, and said, “He went on and on about healing spells and broken bones and the healer training program at St. Mungo’s. Don’t mention if you get a papercut, he’ll try to practice a Suturing spell on you.”

Dorcas opened her mouth to speak but Lily continued.

“And then, of course, he was so busy talking about becoming a healer that he didn’t even notice that purebloods had gathered outside the Three Broomsticks—”

“Lily?” Dorcas attempted to interrupt.

“I left him of course, to follow Pettigrew and Potter out of the castle. Wasn’t that amazing, the way they secreted us away—”

“Lily—”

“Yes, Dorcas?”

“You do realize…. that you’re taking courses to prepare for the healer training program?”

“Yes,” Lily snapped impatiently. She stabbed at her boiled broccoli.

“Well, if you don’t like it… why are you planning to go into the healer profession?”

Lily dropped her fork, crossed her arms, and swallowed before admitting that she didn’t know.

“Well,” said Dorcas thoughtfully. “What do you enjoy?”

Lily thought for a minute.

“Potions and Charms. And healers need O’s in those classes, and they’re already so easy for me.”

“Those are classes you’re good in. What do you enjoy? You don’t need to become a healer after all.”

Lily put her head in her hands and her elbows on the table in a pose of fatigue. Dorcas munched on her chicken before she said, “How about we spend an hour outside the Staff Room doing a little reconnaissance?” This brightened Lily up to some degree, and they agreed to go down the ground-floor corridor after dinner.

* * *

After dinner, Lily and Dorcas walked down the deserted ground-floor corridor that led to the staff-room. They stopped in front of a pair of gargoyles and looked around.

“What are you doing here?” The girls jumped, but it was just one of the gargoyles.

“Is anyone in there?” Lily asked.

“No,” answered the right gargoyle.

“Can we come in?” asked Dorcas.

“No,” answered the right gargoyle.

“We’re doing reconnaissance,” whispered Dorcas.

“Oh, you’re doing reconnaissance, eh?” said the left gargoyle loudly. “You should have said that first thing.”

Dorcas reached for the door knob and turned it but it was locked.

“You still can’t come in,” said the left gargoyle. Dorcas harumphed, and the girls opened the door of the classroom opposite and hid behind the door.

“We’ll just watch the door for a minute, find out if anyone comes in or out,” said Dorcas to Lily, who nodded her agreement.

Dorcas and Lily watched the door to the Staff Room for fifteen minutes. Dorcas's shoulders were beginning to ache from standing in a contorted position, concealing as much of her body as possible while still being able to see through the gap in the door. But her muscles tautened when she heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and voices.

“... A mystery, how the majority of muggleborn students were at the castle before everyone else.”

“Filch has been talking since he arrived a few years ago, about how he wants to close all the secret passageways in and out of Hogwarts. Many professors don’t even believe they exist, think Filch is being paranoid…”

The voices of the two teachers, one male, one female, faded as they entered the Staff Room. Dorcas and Lily, checking that the coast was clear, tip toed out from behind the door and crouched by the door to the Staff Room, which was ajar.

“Do you know anything about the _Icenian Inquirer_? Did you know there would be a rally today?” said one male voice.

“I knew nothing about it, no,” said the female voice.

“They’re talking about the _Inquirer_ ,” whispered Lily.

“I know, shut up,” Dorcas hissed.

“Both of you need to back up,” said the gargoyle on the right.

“Amateurs,” snorted the gargoyle on the left.

 

“ _What’s two Newtsies doing skulking about?_

 _Peevesie’s gotta know or he’ll dungbomb you out!_ ”

 

“Peeves!” hissed Lily and she tumbled over in her attempt to dodge Peeves’s dungbombs, narrowly avoiding being hit. Dorcas jumped up from her crouching position in a rage, as Peeves pelted fuzzy brown balls at her, which erupted in puffs of dark green smoke on impact.

“WHO KEEPS GIVING YOU DUNGBOMBS, I’M GONNA MURDER THEM,” shouted Dorcas.

“What is going on?”

Professors Asante and Slughorn had appeared at the door of the Staff Room. Peeves shot off down the corridor, bouncing dungbombs off the walls until his cackling faded.

“Nothing, we were—” Lily began from her tumbled position on the flagged stone floor.

“Waiting to talk to you, Professor,” Dorcas finished.

“It’s almost curfew,” Asante said.

“I’ll handle these two students, Professor Asante,” said Slughorn. “We can have a chat over tea in my office. Won’t you come along—”

“Actually,” said Asante, who towered over the squat Slughorn. “Would you mind if I spoke to them in my office?”

“Not— not at all,” said Slughorn, looking disappointed.

“Follow me,” said Asante, and she motioned to the two girls to follow her down the corridor and up the stairs.

Dorcas and Lily walked closely behind the professor. Dorcas’s stomach was clenched with an unfamiliar anxiety. This must be what getting in trouble felt like. Dorcas glanced at Lily, whose lips were pale and compressed in a tight line; she could only imagine how that feeling might be compounded when one was a prefect.

They entered Asante’s classroom and walked to the back, where Asante pulled a book from a bookcase, which swing open like a door. They walked through, and Lily could be heard muttering, “Wow, I thought those only existed in the movies.”

Asante’s office was a small room with a desk piled with books and papers, a plush, green upholstered chair, another green armchair piled with books, two mullioned windows that looked out on the lake that shone under the slivered moon, and every wall but one covered by full bookcases. The one bare wall contained one sepia photograph that showed an out of focus public park.

Asante walked around her desk and opened a drawer and rummaged through it. She found whatever she was looking for and closed her drawer with her hip. She motioned for the girls to follow her out of the office and up the stairs at the back of the classroom, where she used the object she’d found in her drawer— a key—to open another room, again with two mullioned windows, and this one was bare but for two pieces of large machinery, and a long wooden table.

“What is it?” asked Dorcas, referring to the smaller of the two machines.

“It’s a letterpress.”

“Is it magical,” asked Lily, bending down to inspect the interlocking components.

“It is actually a muggle device. It is mechanical. It is not possible for magic in the atmosphere to interfere with it. It is, however, easily enchanted.”

Asante chuckled to herself.

“Frey tried to lecture me about bringing enchanted objects into the school,” said Asante.

“Frey— You mean, Filch?” Dorcas asked.

“Yes, that one,” she said, smiling.

She raised her wand and traced spirals in the air around the press, and the cogs began to turn. A pedal at the bottom began to move up and down, a wheel on the left side began to spin. Rollers swung up and over a round plate that rotated every few seconds, while a tray with a piece of parchment rose up to meet another plate set with metal letters. those letters pressed the ink from the swinging rollers onto the parchment, which flew up and settled gracefully on the long table nearby, while another piece of parchment settled itself in its place to be pressed by the inked letters. the process was smooth and continuous, almost hypnotic. Soon there were twenty pieces of parchment lying on the table. When Professor Asante ascertained that the ink had dried, she waved her wand and the parchment piled itself neatly in a stack. The press made steady soft ticking and whirring noises.

Asante raised her wand and another, larger press began turning out poster-sized parchments.  

“What can you make with it?” asked Dorcas.

“Anything. I make my posters, which are for reference. Sometimes I also make helpful study pamphlets for my students around exam-time.”

“These remind me of the _Icenian Inquirer_ ,” said Lily, picking up a piece of parchment from the table.

“Yes, it is likely that the _Inquirer_ also employs a letterpress printer like mine. Our content, however, is quite different.”

“The _Icenian Inquirer_ makes me sick,” said Lily, setting down the parchment again.

Asante nodded, a serious look on her face. “Yes, their writers are particularly talented at inventing the most hideous lies.”

Lily ground her teeth in contempt at the very thought of the periodical, and then a thought brightened her face, and a bitter little chuckle escaped her lips. Asante cocked her head in question.

“I just thought,” said Lily. “It would be nice if someone could print a magazine or a newsletter that _only_ tells the truth. Not the Daily Prophet, which is still directed by people of authority, with an agenda, but one from the point of view of the muggleborns, and anyone else persecuted by death-eater terror.” Asante looked thoughtful. Dorcas smiled at her friend.

“Sounds like a great idea,” Asante said. “Maybe that someone should be you.”

 


	7. Crossroads

 

Lily lay in her bed in the Gryffindor sixth year girls’ dormitory, one arm behind her head, and one resting around her middle. She was listening to the steady, varied breathing of the girls in the beds around her. Her curtains were drawn. She lay there in pitch darkness.

Lily’s eyes snapped open for the hundredth time that night and she heaved a sigh. She’d tried going to sleep but the events of the day were rocketing around in her brain.

The tumult of the rally was still foremost in her mind. Her head teemed just as Hogsmeade had teemed with the crowd, the signs and banners announcing designs for a pure magical society were burned onto Lily’s retina. Those words made Lily’s heart hurt. They didn’t just hate muggleborns, they were _angry_. They were wishing them into nonexistence. They wanted to sweep muggleborns to the side, kick them out, squash them like bugs. At first, Lily had been stunned, as Pettigrew, taking her by the arm, lead her through the back gardens of the Hogsmeade shops. She’d been dazed, she barely remembered the path they’d taken to Dr. Johnson’s. Where would she be if it hadn’t been for Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew, leading them through the secret passageway behind the lion, at the back of the barber shop?

She turned over on her side, nestling her hip into a comfortable niche in the mattress as another memory came back to her. It was them behind the tapestry the night she’d patrolled the corridors with Alfred and Dorcas… It had been Pettigrew, Black and Potter behind the tapestry. She’d never heard anyone call Severus _Snivellous_ other than Potter and Black. But what had they said? One of them had sent Snivellous down after Moony. Down where? What could that sentence possibly mean? And what else had they said? Someone had information. Information about the Hogsmeade trip. Was that how the date of the rally fell on the same day? But who had given the date to the _Icenian Inquirer_?

And then there was the sadness that had underlined everything ever since the end of last term, like a narrow stream in a wood, its babbling echoing off the trees, echoing through Lily’s every day. But she could feel that sadness turning into something else now. It was being burned away. That was why she’d said what she’d said in Asante’s office.

Lily heaved another sigh and glanced at her watch. The little green glowing hands told her it was almost one in the morning. She reached up and tugged her hangings back. They let in a sliver of the dim moonlight. Lily let them fall closed again.

She thought about how Asante had responded. _Maybe it should be you,_ she’d said. She’d told them that if they wanted to do that, they ought to come up with a theme and a title, and solicit articles around that theme. Lily began to run down the roster of sixth years whom she knew came from families like her own. Alfred was more likely to write something than Mary, but she would ask both of them. It might be nice to get the inside scoop from Remus Lupin on the passageway, and she could ask the other muggleborns they’d secreted away: Arden, Fenwick and Hannigan. She ought to ask Saorise O’Malley, Sam de Poest and Wilfred Chang for writing as well, all muggleborn students. She began crafting speeches in her head. Dorcas and I are starting a magazine to showcase— no that won’t do, will have to think of a better word— to feature voices from the muggleborn community of Hogwarts, would you consider submitting an article or essay? _Yes, that’s a great start_ , thought Lily as she ran down the list of people to solicit for submission. She fell asleep reciting her script, and the names of her peers became a mantra, and _theme, title, solicit_ became a prayer in the night.

 

* * *

The next morning, Professor Asante handed back marked-up essays as students lurched in through the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. Lily took her essay from Professor Asante and sat down at a desk to look at her grades while students settled into their seats around her. She’d received an E on her paper about nonverbal spells, but her mouth fell open at the sight of her other essay, the one Asante had assigned four weeks before, when she’d watched as Lily failed to produce nonverbal Shields when paired with Lupin, and succeed at the same with Potter.

Her three feet of parchment was covered in generous amounts of red ink; question marks, circles, and underlining abounded. And there, under the title, ( _A Study in adrenaline and fear-responses as they manifest in nonverbal spell-casting_ ), a D. For Dreadful. Lily scanned the red-stained parchment until she got to the end, where a question was written in Asante’s hand: “What is truly at the root of your fear?”

Lily was furious. She rolled up the essay as Professor Asante raised her hands for silence in the room. As Asante began speaking about Dark potion ingredients, Lily thought with savage pleasure that as soon as she was back in the dormitory she’d throw the essay under her bed and never think of it again.

 

* * *

 

A few days passed before Lily and Dorcas found an hour free of homework to meet and talk about starting their own newspaper. After double Potions, during which Slughorn announced a middle-of-term open-book exam to take place at the end of the following week, Lily and Dorcas sat down at the edge of the lake, to bathe in the weakening sunlight.

“We should respond to the rally. It was barely mentioned in the Prophet,” said Lily as she pulled at the grass withering in the chilly air. “And our focus should be on the muggleborn perspective.”

“What’s going to be our name?” said Dorcas, who was chucking tiny pebbles into the Black Lake. Lily watched them make ripples that spread from their center, moving out evenly over the surface, growing wider.

“Something like Truth,” said Lily thoughtfully. “Something about telling the truth.”

“How about, _Truth_?” Dorcas spread her arms wide as though she were looking up at a sign.

“Yeah, but, not that,” Lily laughed, leaning back on her elbows. “Something elegant. You know, another language.” Lily tilted her face up to the sun.

“ _Pravda_ ,” Dorcas offered, leaning back on her elbows as well.

“I think that’s taken. How about _la Vérité_ ,” said Lily, eyes still closed.

“Well, it’s a bit over the top, but it reminds me of Veritaserum. The truth-telling potion.” Dorcas said, shifting to one side.

Lily opened her eyes and looked up at the sky, and thought for a moment before saying, “How about _Veritas_?”

“ _Veritas_ , _veritas_ ,” said Dorcas, touching her chin in a thinking gesture. “Not bad. Let’s think on it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lily agreed. She couldn’t help but smile. “And I’ve been thinking who we ought to ask to submit writing. Maybe we could talk to the students who were with us in Hogsmeade, like Arden and de Poest?

“Great idea,” said Dorcas. “And we should talk to Potter and Black about that passageway. Not sure how much they want to disclose, but it’s worth a shot.”

Lily made a pained face at this. She felt the initial joy ebb a little at the thought of talking to Potter and Black. She decided to make a concession. “I’ll talk to Lupin and Pettigrew, but that’s all,” she said.

“Alright,” said Dorcas, shrugging her shoulders. “I’ll talk to Potter and Black.”

“Deal,” said Lily feeling her enthusiasm come back. She got up off the grass and heaved her bag over her shoulder. The sun flashing on the surface of the lake caught her eye and she sighed. “I’ve got to get going, this mid-term won’t study for itself.”

“Pity,” chuckled Dorcas as she made to follow Lily back up to the castle. “You should talk to your Charms club about remedying that.”

 

* * *

 

Dorcas and Lily had hardly a moment to spare to continue their discussion as they studied intensively for their mid-term, picked up assignments in all their classes, and devoted much of their time to practicing spells or writing essays. They seemed to always miss each other; Dorcas was leaving the Great Hall with Alfred when Lily entered with Mary, Lily was rushing out of the library and to her next class just as Dorcas was entering. In between passing each other in the hallways, both girls were talking to their fellow sixth years, to muggleborns throughout the school who had been present at the rally. Finally, at the end of the following week, Slughorn’s N.E.W.T. students entered the dark dungeon at ten in the morning, and settled in for a Potions exam that would last a full double period. Slughorn wasted no time in getting started.

“If you turn to page twenty-nine of your books, you’ll be making the Belladonna Brew for your mid-term open-book exam. Now, Borage reminds us that the poison belladonna, or Deadly Nightshade, when used sparingly, can be a remarkable restorative…”

Dorcas was only half-listening, and was talking in a low voice into Lily’s ear: “I found Arden the other day by the lake, she gave me a short essay she wrote, got it in my bag. And Cresswell, Chang and Hannigan all handed me rolls of parchments yesterday…”

Lily threw Dorcas an irritated look as she took her textbook and Potions kit out of her bookbag, while Slughorn continued to elaborate on the mid-term he’d set.

“...toxins such as lily-of-the-valley, which produces abdominal pain, vomiting, and reduced heart…”

“Have you spoken to de Poest, or Fenwick?” whispered Dorcas. “And I wonder if Mary really will write something, you know she hates assignments of any kind. Alfred’s writing something of course….”

“... I’m going to be splitting you up into pairs,” Slughorn said, cutting short Dorcas’s monologue.  As he unrolled a length of parchment, his declaration was met with disappointed groans that rolled through the dungeon.

“Pye and Adrian. Shafiq and Stebbins. Selwyn and Abbot.” There was a growing flurry of movement as students who heard their names gathered their cauldrons and cloaks and moved to desks to sit with their partners.

“Black and Chang. Potter and Evans. Avery and Parkinson.”

Lily did not throw her supplies into her cauldron, for she could not move. She would be doing her Potions mid-term with Potter? What fresh hell was this?

“Shacklebolt and Snape. Lupin and Fenwick. Please pack up your things and switch places. Your mid-term exam will begin in five minutes.”

Lily looked with panicked eyes at Dorcas who was now picking up her cauldron and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you later,” said Dorcas with an encouraging little smile. She was replaced quickly by a Potter who looked as unsure about the pairing as Lily was panicked.

He tentatively set his cauldron down on the table, throwing timid glances in Lily’s direction. She ignored him, opened her book to the Belladonna Brew and began pulling her supplies out of her kit, her thoughts moving quickly. Her plan would be to not speak to Potter unless absolutely necessary.

“Pass the dragon’s blood,” said Potter. Lily wordlessly handed him a vial of thick green liquid. Potter proceeded to uncork the vial and pour it into a measuring spoon, all the while throwing furtive glances at Lily, who was doubled over a mortar and pestle, grinding down dried Belladonna berries. Potter cleared his throat.

“You’re gonna grind them into dust, Evans,” said Potter with a half-hearted chuckled. Lily looked up at him, her red hair hanging down over one side of her face, so that one blazing green eye glared up at him.

“The finer the grain, the more exact the measurement,” said Lily in a voice more deadly than the berries she was grinding, and forgetting about her plan to not speak a word to Potter. She did, however, put down the bowl to sweep her hair up out of her eyes and into a loose knot at the back of her head. Then she continued to grind the berries. Potter turned away from her, and focused on setting the fire to the right temperature.

“Nearly hot enough to add the blood,” he said.

“Did you use the _thermometrum_ spell,” said Lily, still not looking at him.

“No, but I think it’s nearly hot enough,” said Potter.

“You have to use the spell to check,” said Lily, adding emphasis to the end of each of her words.

She looked directly at Potter, who was looking at her with frustration.

“Do _you_ want to do it?” he said crossly.

“I don’t want you taking credit for my work, and I don’t want you messing this up for us,” Lily hissed. They glared at each other for another moment, breathing hard.

“Okay,” said Potter, leaning back. “We’ll do it your way,” he said, taking out his wand and performing the _thermometrum_ spell to check the temperature.

“Thirty eight calorics, as indicated by Borage, the correct temperature,” Potter muttered. Lily took the measuring spoon of dragon’s blood and tipped it slowly into the cauldron. She noticed her hand trembling and hoped that Potter didn’t. Glancing over at him, she saw that he was occupied with jerkily tearing leaves of dried rue from their stems. She felt irritation bubbling up inside. As the potion took on a dark iridescent blue sheen, she shook the belladonna berry powder into a measuring cup before dropping it into the cauldron, turning the solution a deep golden yellow, and stirred it thrice counter-clockwise. Then she turned on Potter.

“You’re doing it wrong,” muttered Lily. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Potter’s hand clench around the dried rue, then he slammed it down on the cutting board in front of her.

“Here,” he said airily. Lily glared at him.

“You’re making this difficult for no reason,” she bit back. He glowered at her.

“If you would just trust me, then we wouldn’t be having this argument,” he grunted.

“I don’t trust you,” she said, “because you’ve never given me a reason. In fact, you’ve given me every reason not to.”

The silence rang in her ears following this declaration. Potter looked like he wanted to say something, but Lily turned her shoulder away from him, and proceeded to tear the leaves from the rue stems.

“Do you know how you’re distributing the paper,” said Potter, as he picked up a bundle of mandrake leaves and began to shred them.

“What do you know about the paper,” Lily grumbled as she shook the shredded rue into the cauldron.

“Dorcas asked me and Sirius to write about the rally,” Potter said. Lily scowled at him. He was shredding the leaves all wrong.

“Why,” said Lily, as she took the leaves from Potter, and began to shred them herself.

“Well, I think we can help,” said Potter, as he reached for the leaves to take them back. Lily moved them further out of his reach.

“Oh you do, do you,” said Lily.

“Pete can be places and get things few others can.”

Lily snorted. “We’ll let you know if you’re needed,” she said sarcastically as she continued to shred the leaves. Slughorn spoke then, from the front of the classroom.

“I will remind you all that one of the purposes of pairing you off is for you to work _cooperatively_ on your exams,” he said, gazing around the room at his students. _‘Pairs_ of hands yield sweet solutions,’ as my grandfather liked to say. I’ve divided you into pairs based on your skillsets and temperaments. You are not working with your Potions partner today by pure chance! Keep that in mind as you work,” he finished, with a glance at Lily, who blushed. Lily looked down at her half-shredded Mandrake leaves, then over at Potter, who was standing next to her with nothing to do. She could not understand why Slughorn had thought to pair her and Potter. Their temperaments seemed irreconcilable. She sighed and pushed her leaves over to him. He gently took them from her, their fingers grazing as he did so.

For a moment Lily wondered at the tingle in the finger that had just made contact with Potter’s. But it went away before she could linger any further on the sensation. The potion needed tending to anyway. She was bent over her textbook when her eyes fell upon an illustration of the Mandrake root, under which a description noted: “ _the Mandrake root can induce unconsciousness when used in sufficient quantities_.”

Lily looked up toward the front of the room unseeingly, her quill paused in mid-air. She could see another sentence, written in red ink, swimming into view in her mind’s eye.

_What is at the very root of your fear?_

She shook her head to clear it. She could think about Defense Against the Dark Arts after Potions was over.

 

* * *

 

Dorcas set her cauldron and Potions textbook down beside those of Severus Snape. Dorcas had hoped that Snape would take up the usual sixth year Slytherin position of pretending that Dorcas didn’t exist, but he turned to face her and spoke in a low voice.

“The Belladonna Brew is notoriously difficult, masquerading as a simple, five-ingredient solution. We’re working together, so _don’t_ mess up my marks with your hubris.”

“What hubris,” said Dorcas, innocently.

“You hang out with Gryffindors, it’s probably rubbed off on you.”

“You mean one Gryffindor in particular, is that what bothers you? Her arrogance in believing she doesn’t have to be friends with someone who doesn’t think she has a right to exist?”

She had hoped that this would shut Snape up, but he stepped closer to her, so that Dorcas automatically took a step back. He spoke in a voice lower and more menacing than before.

“You’re only her friend,” He breathed. “Because no one in your house wants anything to do with the likes of you.” He scowled. “She pities you.”

“I’m her friend because she’s a better person than any of you will ever be,” Dorcas shot back, meeting Snape’s eyes. She snatched the bundle of dried rue off the table. In doing so her eyes fell upon Snape’s bag, which was open.

There, between textbooks, sticking-out quills, and rolls of parchment, was a pamphlet with block-printed blue letters.

Dorcas, heart beating fast, looked away from it quickly, and narrowed her focus to picking the right number of leaves off the rue stems in her hand, but Snape must have noticed, because he kicked the flap of his bookbag closed.

As Dorcas breathed in deeply, determined to slow her heart-rate to normal, and tore leaves from the stems, she could think of only one thing.

They had better release their magazine soon, because the _Icenian Inquirer_ had already beat them to the punch.

* * *

 

Lily was sitting in a chair at the long table in the Heads’ room that afternoon. She had taken out the rolls of parchment that Dorcas had handed over at lunch that day, after double Potions— articles, essays, stories and poems by the muggleborns who were present in Hogsmeade during the rally. She’d arrived a few minutes early for the prefect meeting, and began to unroll the parchments, and study them.

It was exciting to hold the things that people had made, that expressed how they felt. Arden had written a very well-researched essay on the history of prejudice against muggleborns. Dirk Cresswell had made a list of muggleborn contributions to magical society, while Wilfred Chang had written a thoughtful piece about how muggleborns don’t have to show purebloods how talented at magic they are, or be precocious at school to deserve to be treated with dignity. Little Bridey Hannigan had written a short poem about the sadness and confusion she had felt that day. Lily was just considering whether it ought to go at the beginning or the end when the door to the Heads’ room opened and Remus walked in, followed by several other prefects.

Remus smiled at Lily, who returned the smile. Lupin took the empty seat next to her.

“Are those things people wrote for your newspaper?” he said. Lily nodded, turning the parchments over and shuffling them.

“I haven’t read them all yet, but I think they’re going to be really good,” said Lily, feeling her chest swell with fierce pride for the witches and wizards who had submitted such excellent work, excellent, thoughtful, heartfelt, and meaningful work.

“I can’t wait to read it,” said Remus. He suddenly looked up, his eyes twinkling. “By the way, I have something for you.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a roll of parchment and handed it to Lily, who took it and began unrolling it.

“We decided to remain anonymous, and to withhold certain details, so that we could talk about how we spirited the muggleborns away, without getting anyone in trouble,” said Remus in a low voice, with a little smile. Lily looked up at him from the parchment he’d given her. She was going to say how happy she was, how grateful that he’d done something so risky, and she didn’t just mean writing about the passageway.

But just then, Alice walked in, followed by Diggory and the rest of the prefects. The meeting was about to begin. Lily carefully rolled up the submissions and placed them back in her bag, and took out the tally she kept of punishments handed out while on duty. There was a flurry of bookbags and parchments, the clink of inkwells and the thump of books touching down on the table as Diggory took up space at the front of the room. He held his hands up for silence.

“Thank you,” he said. “Minutes?”

Persephone Moon raised her quill, and Diggory inclined his head toward her before continuing.

“Thus commences Prefect meeting number three of fall term, year 1976—”

“Get on with it, Dig—” said a low voice from the back of the room. A low rumbling of chuckles was quickly muffled as Diggory craned his head to see who spoke. He must not have been able to see who it was, because he continued.

“Without further interruption, I would like to hear reports from prefects from each house on developments concerning…”

Lily was looking down at the rolls of parchment now tucked into her bag. She still hadn’t received work from Mary, nor from Fenwick or de Poest. She thought she’d give them another week before she cornered them in the Great Hall, or on the quidditch pitch at the next practice--

“—Ten points docked from Slytherin, fifteen from Hufflepuff, ten from Ravenclaw and thirty from Gryffindor,” Lysistrata rattled off lazily.

“Don’t let favoritism influence how you exercise your authority!” said Diggory wagging his finger at Lysistrata, who looked ready to bite it off his hand.

Lily’s mind drifted back to the newspaper. Could it be called a newspaper? Perhaps it would make more sense to refer to it as a newsletter, or a magazine. It felt like a magazine, a periodic anthology of works by concerned— no, featuring the voices of— muggleborns. That could be the tagline, thought Lily, her eyes widening. She thought back to her short talk with Dorcas a few days before, by the lake. _Veritas_ , she thought. _Veritas_. She mouthed it, her eyes gazing into the middle distance.

“Evans? Evans!”

Lily jerked back to the present in the Heads’ room. All the prefects were looking at her. She looked down at the tallies she’d made.

“Er…,” she began, trying to regain her focus. “Erm… twenty points from Slytherin, eleven points from Ravenclaw, eight points from Hufflepuff, seventeen from Gryffindor,” she said, letting go a sigh at the end.

“Thank for joining us, Evans. Moving on,” said Diggory. “Next on the agenda, Halloween is coming up. I’m sending around a schedule for prefects to sign up to help Hagrid decorate the Hall for the feast. Please sign up for at least two shifts!” Diggory tapped a length of parchment with his wand and a grid appeared. He handed it to Moon who began writing her name in.

Lily sighed again. Remus looked at her.

“Alright, Lily,” he said. Lily looked at Remus. His eyes were full of kindness, for which Lily felt grateful. She put her hand on his forearm briefly.

“I will be soon, Remus, as soon as this magazine is finished,” she said. Remus smiled at this, and turned his attention to the schedule, which had been handed to him.

“Ready to carve some pumpkins,” he said brightly, before writing his name in the schedule, still grinning.

* * *

 

Dorcas and Alfred sat in the Hufflepuff common room, occupying a patch of sunlight shaped like the circular window through which it slanted. A fire crackled in the grate. Dorcas felt warm and comfortable, curled up in a black and gold armchair. Alfred had tucked his legs under him on the sofa, and he pulled his books out from his bookbag one by one, flipping through them to look for answers to questions from his homework. Dorcas looked on drowsily. It seemed as though the leaves of the plants rustled in the breeze, though there was no breeze, and the bees buzzed heavily, drifting from flower to flower, though there were no bees.

Nearby a Celestina Warbeck tune warbled out of a radio. Dorcas hummed along. It was a recent favorite of her father’s. When the song ended, the host cleared his throat.

“That was Celestina Warbeck with her new single, _Charming Me Softly_. This just in from the news desk, Robert Ogden has officially been replaced by former Head Auror Bartholomew Crouch as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. More at nine.”

Dorcas mulled over this piece of news. She’d heard it a few weeks before from Dr. Johnson as she and her friends escaped behind the lion in the back of the barbershop. He must know someone in the department, she thought slowly. That would be the only way he’d have the information so early.

Her thoughts turned to Barty Crouch, Jr, a thin, pale fourth year in her house.

She wasn’t all that different from Barty, Dorcas mused. He came from a pureblood family same as she did, and his father, a former auror who rose through the ranks, was now effectively leading the charge against the death-eaters. Just like the Shacklebolts, the Crouch family were against the death-eater ideology that had permeated pureblood society ever since Dorcas could remember.

Still Barty Crouch, Jr. often sat at the Slytherin table with Regulus Black, another little pureblood prince whose family used their prominent positions within the wizarding world to all but declare what side they were on. Barty chose to spend time with people like that. He’d made choices that Dorcas hadn’t made, allowing him to keep a seat at the table.

Dorcas was mulling over the slim likelihood that she’d ever have a place at Slytherin table, and whether that was even something she wanted. It was the house she’d been sorted into, after all. It would be nice to belong…

“What’s that,” said Dorcas, pointing to a book sticking out of Alfred’s bag.

“This?” said Alfred, pulling the book out and turning it over, considering it. “Just something my father gave me this summer.” Dorcas held out her hand, and Alfred handed it to her.

She turned the thin paperback over in her hands.

“ _The Fire Next Time_ ,” Dorcas read off the cover. “What’s it about?”

“Well, I’ve only just started it.” said Alfred in an absent-minded way, still flipping through his textbooks. “It’s been sitting in my trunk for the last few weeks. Here’s my article, by the way,” he said pulling a roll of parchment out of his bag and handing it to Dorcas, who was herself distracted, reading the back cover of the slim paperback. She dropped the roll of parchment into her bag.

“Why pick it up now?” Dorcas asked.

Alfred shrugged. “Something about the rally reminded me of the Notting Hill Carnival riot this summer. The day after the riot, my dad gave me this book.”

Dorcas turned the book over and over in her hands, and flipped through its pages.

“It’s about Black people in America. About racial tension there,” said Alfred. Dorcas looked up at him as he continued. He was looking at her directly now, a textbook open in his lap, mid-flip.

“The people at the rally, they were like the people I saw in the newsreels when I was little, the ones who wanted to keep their schools and their lunch-counters whites-only. I’m muggleborn, and some wizards want to make this school pureblood-only. I’m hated twice over.”

Dorcas thought of her father again. Of a rainy evening when she was seven years old, a few years before the conflict broke out. She had been sitting at the kitchen table lit by a dim overhead bulb when the fireplace roared to life, the fire flashed green, and her father stepped out.

He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwed shut. He looked as though he had a headache. Dorcas’s mother appeared at the door of the kitchen.

“What’s wrong, dear,” she asked softly. Dorcas’s father sat down heavily at the table, and laid his briefcase down in front of him. Seven-year-old Dorcas waited for him to pull a face and laugh, or magic a plate out of the cupboard, or food out of the pantry. She waited for him to make a sweet appear out of his pocket for her, or a joke, or anything. But Lemuel Shacklebolt did not do any of these things this night. Instead he looked sadly at his daughter, crayon in hand, and said, “They’re gonna tell you all that matters is your wand, your skill, Dorcas.”

Dorcas looked up at him, puzzled. Her mother looked on grimly as he continued wearily. “They’re gonna tell you there’s no difference between you and them. But there are differences. And they’ll ignore them until it’s inconvenient to continue doing so.”

Lemuel leaned forward in his chair, not taking his eyes off his daughter.

“They’re going to say it’s about how hard you work in school, it’s about how much parchment you can generate, listing your accomplishments, your qualifications. But they’re going to imply that you can’t go certain places because you’re a witch. They’ll talk to you a certain way because of the color of your skin and the curl of your hair, Dorcas. In the end it’s not your wand or your skill that they can see, that they’ll judge you by.”

He huffed in anger. Then, he redoubled his intense gaze on his daughter.

“None of those things make you inferior, Dorcas. Never let anyone tell you that your color, your curl, or your sex make you less than the ones who judge you for it. Remember that.”

Lemuel collapsed back into the chair. Dorcas’s mother set down two tea cups in front of him and went to fill a tea pot with water. After she placed it on the table in front of him, Lemuel aimed his wand at it, and for a while nothing appeared to happen. Only after a few minutes did the steam begin to rise from the spout. He put down his wand and poured the water into the two cups. Dorcas’s mother sat down beside him, and the two of them took small sips from the steaming cups of tea. Fatimah laid a soothing hand upon Lemuel’s shoulder, which he reached for and squeezed. He looked wearily at his wife who looked back at him with an expression of reflection and understanding, and breathed, “Oh, Fatimah.” She pressed a kiss to his temple.

“My dad once told me, it’s not your skill they can see,” said Dorcas thoughtfully, the memory of that night burning bright in her mind. “I think he’s experienced a lot of discrimination for the color of his skin.”

“What else did he say,” said Alfred, looking at Dorcas hopefully. But Dorcas looked back at him with an apologetic expression.

“He just said, remember that. Remember that they’ll judge you by what they can see. And he said, never let anyone tell you that it makes you less.” She shrugged wearily, as though she’d taken on the weight her father had handed to her.

“I don’t have an answer for you,” said Dorcas. Alfred leaned back on the sofa wearily too. He closed his textbook and set it aside. Dorcas handed the slim paperback to him.

Alfred reached for it, looking at Dorcas, his brown eyes darting back and forth between Dorcas’s own. She thought of her father coming home and telling her to remember. She thought of Barty Crouch, Jr.’s father’s promotion, and Barty’s place in Slytherin. Dorcas was like Alfred in one way, but in another, she was more like Barty Crouch, Jr. And it frightened her.

 

* * *

 

A thunderstorm the night of the Halloween feast lent a sufficiently spooky mood to the proceedings. The tables were laden with what seemed like more, and more various, food than usual. Live bats swooped down from the eaves and Hagrid’s pumpkins had been bewitched to resemble small disembodied heads, and they hung above the tables chattering. Streamers floated above the tables, emitting eerie sounds.

Dorcas sat at the end of Gryffindor table, chatting amiably with Remus and Lily, and admiring their work on the decorations. She saw Mary enter the hall, and began to wave her over, catching Mary’s eye. Mary walked up and sat down opposite Lily, next to Dorcas, who thought she looked very dreary indeed.

Mary seemed to look around for someone, and on finding that that someone was not present, she relaxed a little. Dorcas reached for a plate of pumpkin pasties, and offered them to her friend, but Mary did not seem to be in the mood for sweets. Dorcas looked at Lily, who was regarding Mary with concern.

“Mary, what’s wrong?” Lily asked.

“Will you be seeing Alfred again,” said Dorcas as she reached for a pumpkin pasty of her own. Mary sighed and looked away.

“What,” said Dorcas. “Is he giving you grief? I can go straighten him out.”

“We aren’t seeing each other,” said Mary quietly, looking down.

“What happened?”

“I’m— not good. I’m going to fail what few subjects I’m taking—”

“Get a tutor,” said Dorcas dismissively.

“You sound like Alfred,” said Mary. Her eyes were beginning to shine.

“What is it,” said Dorcas in a softer voice than before. She put her arm around Mary’s shoulders. She smiled through her tears.

“Alfred’s going to do something great one day. So are you. So is Lily. And me, I’m— destined for failure,” groaned Mary, putting her face in her hands. She seemed close to weeping. Dorcas put her other arm around her friend in a tight embrace. She felt Mary tremble with tears. How truly frightened she must be of getting kicked out of Hogwarts for bad marks to be weeping like this. And it was only October. Of NEWT year.

Dorcas thought it might be better for Mary if they were not in the Great Hall. Dorcas let go of Mary and stood, saying in a low voice, “why don’t we go into the entrance hall.”

Mary stood and let Dorcas, followed closely by Lily, steer her through the double doors where she pulled her friend to the side, into an alcove, and squeezed her tightly, making Mary cough through her tears. Dorcas eased her embrace.

“I’m a muggle-born,” sniffed Mary. Dorcas smiled.

“I know that, Mary. I don’t care, you know that. Blood doesn’t matter to me.”

“No,” said Mary, wiping her eyes. “No, I mean, I’m a muggle-born, _and_ I’m a Ravenclaw. If I fail at being a witch, they’ll come for me.”

Dorcas felt truly worried for her friend now. She searched Mary’s face, her mind moving quickly to come up with the right thing to say. Lily reached out and squeezed Mary’s arm in support.

“If I am rubbish at magic, they’ll take my wand from me,” Mary finished in a terrified whisper. Dorcas pulled her friend into a hug again and said into her hair, “Oh, Mary.”

“Mary,” said Dorcas, pulling away and looking into her eyes. “You know that if they come for you, they’ll have to get past me, first.” Lily put her arms around Mary too, and Mary closed her eyes for a moment, smiling sadly. Dorcas grabbed her hand and squeezed it. The girls stayed like that for a moment, before they released each other. Mary wiped at her eyes.

“Potter told me in Potions that he and his friends want to help distribute the magazine. Can you imagine?” said Lily, changing the subject and rubbing Mary’s arm in a soothing way.

“That’s brilliant,” said Dorcas. Lily gave Dorcas an incredulous look.

“He’s Potter,” she said. “He’ll probably sabotage it.”

“No he won’t,” said Dorcas. “This is important, I’m sure he knows that.” Dorcas continued, “Did Potter say Pettigrew could get the magazine out for us?”

“Yeah, he did,” said Lily slowly, confounded.

“That’s great,” Dorcas said again.

“One time,” said Mary, sniffling, gulping air, and steadying her voice. “One time, Gideon Prewett wanted a Class C non-tradeable substance for an independent project— I don’t remember what it was, but Pettigrew went away for a day and came back with it. No one knows how he did it, I mean, we can’t apparate yet. He must know a guy.” She blew her nose into the sleeve of her robe.

“Feeling better?” Dorcas asked Mary. Mary shrugged.

“I’m feeling a bit peckish, now you mention it,” she said weakly. Dorcas smiled broadly.

“Let’s go back in,” said Dorcas.

“I’m not sure I want someone like that helping on the magazine,” muttered Lily as the three girls walked slowly back into the Great Hall.

 

* * *

 

The students filed out of the Great Hall in great masses, criss-crossing the hall as they headed for their dormitories.

But the party had just begun.

Lily told Dorcas and Mary that a little get-together, not more than eight people playing gobstones and drinking pumpkin juice, was happening in Gryffindor tower, and invited them along. Dorcas put her arm around Mary’s shoulder and insisted they go, if only to cheer Mary up.

They followed Lily up to the portrait of the Fat Lady. She gave the password, _Aliénor d'Aquitaine_ , and the portrait swung open, letting loose into the corridor a swirl of noise and light.

“Eight people playing gobstones?” said Dorcas. Lily looked around at her friends.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I was sure it was gobstones…”

“I love this song!” Mary shouted. She stepped through the portrait hole, and Lily and Dorcas had no choice but to follow. Lily looked around.

Mary had gone to join the kids dancing in the middle of the room. The sofas and chairs had been pushed against the walls, making the room look strange. But the lights had been dimmed, and the candles had been bewitched to burn in bright colors like red, blue and green. A mirror ball floated in the air above everyone’s heads, spinning steadily. A table under the stairs was piled with food clearly nicked from the kitchens. Lily made her way through the crowd to the table and Dorcas followed. There were pumpkin pasties, bowls of crisps, and sandwiches. There were flagons of pumpkin juice and— Dorcas sniffed— bottles of what smelled suspiciously like butterbeer.

“What do you reckon,” Dorcas asked Lily.

“Contraband,” said Lily. “I have to find whoever organized this and shut it down.”

Dorcas looked around. The Gryffindors, and quite a number of students from other houses, were dancing in the middle of the room, holding their drinks, laughing and singing along. Dorcas hoped she’d be able to get a bottle of butterbeer before Lily shut the party down. Dorcas looked over. Lily was walking the perimeter of the party, looking critically around at the crowd and asking short blunt questions to random, surprised-looking students.

Dorcas grabbed a butterbeer, tapped her wand on the cap, which popped off, and she took a sip. Lily returned.

“No one knows who organized the party.” Lily looked at Dorcas, who was holding her butterbeer behind her back.

“You’re drinking the contraband,” Lily accused, looking betrayed.

“No I’m not,” said Dorcas, and then a small burp escaped her lips. Lily rolled her eyes. Dorcas brought her drink back round to her front and offered it to Lily, who crossed her arms and gave Dorcas a reproachful look.

“You’re already here, just have a drink and enjoy yourself,” Dorcas insisted.

Lily pursed her lips. Dorcas relented.

“You’re allowed to yell at people if they get out of hand,” she said in a conciliatory tone. “But I’m sure the party is— mostly— legal. Now, have a sip, go on.”

Lily took the bottle from Dorcas and took a small swallow.

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, they were on a couch by the wall and passing the bottle between themselves. Mary could be seen in the middle of the dance floor.

“She seems happy now,” said Lily.

“Some people need to dance it out,” said Dorcas, taking a sip of her drink. She passed it to Lily, saying, “By the way, I think we’ve got all we need for the magazine. I think we’re ready to start printing.”

Lily nodded as she took a gulp of butterbeer, finishing the bottle as she did so.

“I’ll go get another one. I’ll be right back,” she said. She stood and went over to the table. She thought the party wasn’t so bad. She was sitting with her friend and chatting. The music was enjoyable. She’d even heard a few muggle hits, and she wondered if it was coming from some sort of bewitched record player.

At the table, Lily picked up another bottle of butterbeer, and filled a plate with crisps. Looking up, she saw Potter approach. Lily looked around for an escape route, but none presented itself. He walked up to her.

“Have you thought about it,” he asked cryptically, though Lily understood what he referred to. Begrudgingly, she said, “I suppose— we could use you.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t. I was just… over-ruled.”

Potter gave her a curt little nod and Lily looked down to adjust the plate of crisps in the crook of her arm. When she looked up, he was gone. As Lily walked back to where Dorcas was sitting, she was blindsided by another wizard.

“This is a lovely song, don’t you think?”

Lily found herself looking up at Augustus Pye, who had a simpering smile on his lips. She supposed that the medium tempo song was not offensive. She shrugged.

“Dance with me,” he said. He didn’t even say please. Lily looked over at Dorcas, who took her cue admirably.

“Hey Lily, you’re going to need help finishing all those crisps, come sit down,” she said, appearing at Lily’s side.

“Just let your friend take the food,” said Pye, as though he’d not even heard what Dorcas had said.

“But I—”

“You’ll hurt my feelings,” he said, putting on an exaggerated frown. Lily sighed. She handed Dorcas the crisps and butterbeer, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

* * *

 

Dorcas sat and watched Pye hold Lily too tight as they danced. She sat up straighter as she watched her friend struggle against the wizard. And she’d long since knocked over the crisps and butterbeer as she ran to her friend when she saw Pye press his lips to her reluctant ones.

“Hey,” shouted Dorcas, barely audible over the music. She pulled at Pye’s robes until he let go of Lily, only to find Dorcas’s wand in his face.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave this tower _right now_ ,” she said in a dangerous voice. Pye looked down at Dorcas’s wand, and at Dorcas and at Lily, and seemed to weigh in his mind a duel, a girl who didn’t really want him anyway, and a girl he knew by reputation as so Gryffindor-like that even the Slytherins in her house avoided her. Pye backed away toward the portrait hole, the crowd swallowed him up.

Dorcas turned to Lily who was wiping her eyes with pale, shaking hands, her cheeks shining red with anger.

“C’mon,” said Dorcas, leading the way back to the sofa. She brushed away the upended crisps, _tergeo_ ’d the spilt butterbeer, and sat down next to her friend.

“He’s awful,” said Dorcas. “I say, next time you see him, cast a nonverbal Shield, he’ll bounce off it every time he tries to talk to you.”

Lily snorted through her nose.

“You could tell someone about it,” Dorcas offered. Lily gave Dorcas a doubtful look, who understood it immediately.

“You’re right. Well, maybe, now that he knows it’s hopeless, he won’t bother you anymore.”

“Let’s hope,” Lily muttered.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Another mid-tempo song with tender violins was playing. It was suitably melancholic, Dorcas thought.

“That wasn’t my first,” said Lily.

“What?” said Dorcas. Then she realized Lily was talking about the kiss. She felt suddenly that she ought to stay quiet.

“Sorry, go on,” she said in a low voice.

“That wasn’t my first kiss,” said Lily, chuckling bitterly before she continued. “There was a bloke. The summer before my fifth year.”

Dorcas remained still. Lily took another breath.

“He was older than me. Quite a bit older. Took me to the park and to the cinema. Said everything short of ‘I love you.’ And one night, in his car, we— we didn’t just kiss. He didn’t call again after that. And then he joined the army. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Is he…”

“Yes, Petunia has been telling me about him whenever he comes back on furlough. Just to torture me.”

“That’s mean,” said Dorcas. Lily laughed bitterly again.

“That’s my sister.” Then the sour smile fell away from her face and she looked out at the crowd without seeing it. “Just once I want to kiss someone I like, and for it to feel right. There don’t have to be fireworks, though that would be nice. There don’t have to be choirs in the sky. I just want to feel like I’m not going to get crushed by the weight of it, or thrown in the bin.”

Dorcas nodded, her own eyes drifting over the faces of the people still at the party. Arms and legs traveled through the air in beautiful curves, hair whipped in arcs lit by the colored lights. Dorcas might have been looking for someone. But she didn’t want to admit it.

 

* * *

  
Lily went upstairs to her dormitory after ten more minutes on the sofa. Dorcas got up, feeling as though the bass drum in the air had infected her legs. They were restless. She wanted to dance like the people in the middle of the room, move her neck and back in arches, roll her shoulders and ankles. She moved a little in time to the music, and closed her eyes, letting the light bleed through her eyelids. When she opened them, she saw her cousin standing in front of her, very still.

“Amin!” she shouted over the music. “You’re in Gryffindor Tower! Look at us Slytherins, who would’ve thought,” Dorcas smiled.

But Amin didn’t smile. He looked worried, if Dorcas had to guess.

“I heard you’re going to publish a magazine about the rally,” he said. He stood strangely still though the bodies around them flew about the room in colored, rhythmic pulses. Dorcas nodded.

“Yeah, it was Lily’s idea. It’s about the muggleborns,” she said excitedly.

“Don’t do it,” said Amin.

“What?” Dorcas laughed. She shook her head in confusion.

“Don’t go to print. Destroy what’s been submitted.” Dorcas looked into Amin’s face, which, lit by the enchanted candles, changed from red to blue to green to red. His eyes were wide. Dorcas thought she even saw fear in them, but a moment later it was no longer there. They were hard as glass. Dorcas shook her head.

“Promise me,” he said.

Dorcas shook her head. Amin turned and walked through the crowd and disappeared through the portrait hole. Dorcas no longer felt like dancing.

 

* * *

The next morning, Dorcas walked into the Great Hall and found it subdued and dismal. Had they really partied that hard?

Dorcas went to sit down with Alfred at the Hufflepuff table.

“What’s going on?” she asked. Alfred looked up at her with a grim look on his face.

“A student found something carved into the door of the Muggle Studies classroom,” he said in a low voice.

“What was it,” Dorcas asked. She was beginning to feel worried. She looked around at the students filing into the Great Hall. The sky above reflected that on the outside, dull gray, and threatening rain. The atmosphere was similarly heavy within. As students took their seats, Dumbledore, wearing muted plum-colored robes, stood up at the top of the hall. It seemed as if everything were gray.

“A dark mark,” said Alfred.

At that moment, Dumbledore spoke, drawing the attention of all the students in the Great Hall.

“We are at a crossroads.” He looked around. He seemed to look into every face in the room. Dorcas felt the sobriety of it. She felt heavy and gray too.

“If we do not stand up for tolerance,” said Dumbledore, his voice lifting into every corner of the room, “and accept the most vulnerable among us—”

His voice seemed to ring and echo around the hall. Dorcas wanted to cover her ears, to shield herself from the anger and the hurt in his voice. But she knew she ought to listen. She knew that if there was ever anything she ought to listen to, it was this.

“If we refuse them a voice, then we make room for intolerance, which makes room for violence. Not only in our school, and in our government, but in our hearts and souls. We must trust each other.”

Dorcas looked up and found Lily across the room, at Gryffindor table, but she wasn’t looking at Dumbledore. She was looking at Potter.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore’s speech adapted from this speech given by Obama in Indonesia in 2017: https://www.salon.com/2017/07/01/barack-obama-warns-against-nationalism-says-the-world-is-at-a-crossroads-in-indonesian-speech/


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